Wild Heart
by balladsinthebluegrass
Summary: Starting at that fateful exit from the Anderson house, we trace what happens to Rick and Michonne. Will their trials bring them closer together or tear them apart? Rated M for violence, language, and adult content. I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.
1. Chapter 1

As they all stepped out onto Jessie's front porch, Rick felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of walkers in front of them. They covered the porch, milled about shoulder-to-shoulder in the front yard, and lumbered up and down the street. It would be difficult even to find room to squeeze between them to make their slow and careful getaway. Wordlessly, they all joined hands with one another, the only way they could hope to stay together in this macabre crowd. Rick took the lead, followed by Carl wearing Judith under his poncho. Michonne took the back. Rick didn't like having her so far away, but it made sense for the two strongest fighters to be in position to protect the group both fore and aft. The others silently fell in line between them: Jessie, her sons, and Father Gabriel.

Imitating the slow, halting movements of the walkers, Rick picked his way through the crowd. He kept his head down and avoided making eye contact or any other sign of life and intelligence, and he prayed the others were doing the same. He knew he could count on his own family to keep up the charade, but what about the others? The few hurried instructions he had been able to give may not have been enough. He had no choice but to hope their instincts for survival would keep them from doing anything foolish.

They were halfway across Jessie's front yard when that hope was dashed to pieces. "Mom?" Sam's timid voice sounded from behind him. "Mom?"

Jessie hissed out of the corner of her mouth, "Quiet. Now."

"Mom, I have to go to the bathroom," Sam whined, his voice getting louder.

"No. Quiet," she whispered the command again. A walker with one eye missing and part of its jaw torn away swiveled in their direction. It began sniffing each of them as they walked by. Another — a teenage girl in its past life, judging by its height and the ragged remains of its clothes — shambled directly towards them.

"I can't hold it — oh, no," Sam moaned. "I just went in my pants."

Rick inwardly cursed the boy's fear and inexperience. He was just like all of the other Alexandrians: completely helpless in the face of the threat outside his own front door. His parents had been unprepared, and they had allowed their children to remain blissfully unaware of the state of the world outside the walls. _Now_ , Rick thought bitterly, _we're all going to pay the price for it._

The sound of talking combined with the smell of fresh urine brought the surrounding walkers down on them. Rick and Carl let go their clasped hands and grabbed their weapons. Michonne's sword was already whistling through the air, cutting down a dozen of the dead around them within seconds. Father Gabriel and Ron both slashed here and there with their knives, and Carl hacked away at the walkers with his machete. Rick buried his axe into the skull of one and pulled it clean through, only to repeat the action again and again until his arms ached. Jessie and Sam dodged the attacking undead as best they could, for Sam was unarmed and Jessie only had her gun. She pulled it out of her belt, but her hands were so slick with gore and sweat that she dropped it on the grass. At that moment, a walker that had been knocked to the ground by one of its fellows grabbed hold of Sam's leg and bit deeply into his calf. He fell, wailing and grasping at the sheet around his mother's neck. She was pulled off balance and, screeching in terror, fell alongside him. Another walker that Michonne had cleaved in two grabbed hold of Jessie's sheet and snapped its jaws at her. Embracing Sam with one arm, heedless of the walker devouring her son's leg, she screamed and flailed in a frantic attempt to escape the ravenous undead. She grabbed hold of Carl's belt and pulled in a furious attempt to get to her feet. However, she was considerably heavier than the slim teenager, and she only succeeded in half yanking him to the ground along with her. As the teeth of the torso-walker sank deep into Jessie's side, Carl went down on one knee and screamed, "Dad!" Carl pried at Jessie's death grip on his belt with one hand while he still swung his machete with the other. The walkers were descending upon them with no reprieve, and he couldn't stop fighting them off long enough to free himself.

Rick turned and took in the situation all in a moment: Jessie on the ground, a walker tearing into her rib cage, one of her arms still wrapped around her now-still son, who was missing most of his right leg, the other dragging his own son down with her. Carl and Judith wouldn't make it if they fell to the ground in the midst of all these walkers. There was no time for hesitation. Rick swung his axe, severing Jessie's arm at the elbow. Jessie howled in pain and shock. A walker that had been making its way toward Rick was distracted by the falling fresh meat, and it fell to its knees, scooping up Jessie's arm and tearing the flesh from the bone. As Rick pulled Carl to his feet, another of the dead lost interest in fighting Father Gabriel and descended upon Jessie. She screamed and screamed as Rick looked on in horror. More of the walkers were turning away from the fighters to fall upon the easier prey on the ground.

"You killed my dad." Rick's head jerked up at the sound of Ron's voice. "You killed my brother. You killed my mom." In the tumult, Ron had picked Jessie's loaded gun up off the grass, and he had it ready in his hand.

"Now, I'm going to kill everyone you care about."

He turned towards Michonne, who was already swinging her katana. His shot was aimed towards her head, but he caught her squarely in her upraised right arm. Her swing went wild as the bullet splintered bone, and she narrowly missed hitting Father Gabriel with her sword. Ron pivoted instantly, and his second shot exploded Carl's face. Rick was nearly upon him with his axe as Ron raised the gun at Rick's head for a third shot. That shot never rang out, however, for Ron's own head suddenly came loose from his shoulders and tumbled to the ground, the rest of his body immediately slumping after it. Michonne, her katana slicked with Ron's blood and clutched tightly in her left hand, raced towards Carl as quickly as Rick did. All of the surrounding walkers were busy devouring the three dead bodies on the ground, and they ignored the living in their midst.

Carl had fallen onto his back. Crouching on his knees beside his son, Rick begged, "Carl? Carl, can you hear me?" His son's face was so covered in gore, it was difficult for Rick to make out the extent of his injury. But when Carl rolled open his eyes and looked at him, Rick realized only one eye was still there. The other was a gaping hole in his son's face. Rick's mind and body froze with horror, unable to fully comprehend the sight before him. Michonne's hands flew to cover her mouth, suppressing a mournful wail.

"Dad?" Carl asked faintly before lapsing into unconsciousness. Judith kicked furiously beneath Carl's poncho, but remained silent.

Rick pulled his children into his arms and ran towards the infirmary as fast as he could. Father Gabriel and Michonne raced alongside them, protecting them from the walkers on each side. Blood ran freely from Michonne's gunshot wound, but adrenaline kept her from feeling the injury. She found she couldn't make her right arm work, however, so she flanked Rick's left side and kept arcing her sword this way and that with her left hand, cutting down any walker that came too close to Rick and Carl as they ran. Rick prayed to any god would that listen, begging for Denise to be at the infirmary and ready to help.


	2. Chapter 2

The number of walkers grew thinner closer to the infirmary. Most of the herd was still wandering aimlessly around the first few blocks of Alexandria and had not yet meandered this far in. There were plenty of people and occupied houses in those blocks, and large patches of the herd were kept busy terrorizing the area. Michonne quickly dispatched the handful of walkers in the front yard of the infirmary, and Father Gabriel held the door for Rick, who had to turn sideways to fit both himself and his children through the entryway. He moved into the next room and gingerly laid Carl down on an exam table, calling out, "Denise? Dr. Cloyd, are you here?" His voice echoed through the empty house.

Rick's indomitable exterior cracked when he realized there was no help here for his son. He laid his head down on Carl's knee and wept brokenly. Tears welling up in her own eyes, Michonne found a pair of scissors and cut away the viscera-smeared poncho covering Carl's chest. She didn't want to risk pulling it over his head, lest walker blood come in contact with the open wound. She nodded to Father Gabriel to retrieve Judith, as she couldn't do it one-handed. He removed his sheet and set to work disentangling Judith from Carl. Silently, the little girl's wide blue eyes took in the sight of her father weeping and her brother's face covered in gore. Father Gabriel held her close and moved off toward the back rooms of the building. Michonne pulled off her own sheet, picked up the others, and tossed them all outside a nearby open window before washing her hands and forearms at the sink under the window. Blood continued coursing freely down her right bicep, however, dripping at the elbow. She found a clean towel and, grimacing in pain, wrapped it around the wound. Then she turned to Rick, standing silently beside him for a long moment before squeezing his shoulder with her left hand. He reached back and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly.

The front door of the infirmary swung open. "—a deal," a male voice was saying. "You show me where the antibiotics are, which ones I need, and I'll make it quick and painless. I promi—" The stranger stopped short when he stepped into the room and saw it was occupied. He had an arm wrapped around Denise and a gun trained on her. Rick whirled around and immediately pulled his own pistol from his holster, aiming it at the capital letter W crudely carved into the man's forehead.

"Easy, easy," the stranger crooned, a crazed smile on his face. He nodded towards Carl's prone figure on the exam table. "Looks like enough people have been shot in the head today. Don't do anything hasty."

"If you hurt her, Wolf," Rick snarled, "I swear I'll cut off your —" But he was interrupted by Michonne.

"How about a trade?"

The wolf raised his eyebrows, an intrigued look on his face. "A trade? What sort of trade?"

"Me for her," she offered. Rick stared at her, wide-eyed panic beginning to spread across his face, but she went on. "There are two of us here, armed and skillful. You might kill her, but you wouldn't make it out alive yourself. However, if you take me, you're only being opposed by one man. Your odds are much better. Besides, one life is the same as another, right? Does it really matter who you kill as long as you get to slice someone's throat today?"

"Yeah, yeah," the wolf nodded. "That does make sense." He gave her a small smile. "I like the way you think. Lay down your weapons and come here, then." After she had placed her katana and gun on the floor, he released his grip on Denise, and she slowly walked away, her frightened eyes locked on Michonne's until they passed one another. Rick kept his gun trained on the wolf the entire time, but the man had his own pistol pointed towards both women, and Rick didn't dare risking the shot. When she came close enough, the wolf pulled Michonne to his chest and pressed the barrel against her temple.

"Now, then, Doc," the wolf continued. "Gather up all the meds I need." Denise complied wordlessly, and held out a small bag containing several bottles of antibiotics. "You take it," he commanded Michonne, and when she had wrapped her left hand around the bag, he walked them both backwards toward the door. Behind Rick, Denise immediately set to work on Carl.

The wolf was smart, hiding most of his head behind his captive's. Rick still couldn't get a clear shot. "Michonne," he choked out. "I can't lose you, too."

As her captor backed her out of the doorway, she tried to think of something to say that would ease his pain. "It's worth it for Carl, to give him a chance." Tears welled up again in Rick's eyes, but the wolf pulled her outside roughly before he could respond.

At that moment, a shot rang out, and the wolf slumped to the ground. Father Gabriel stood behind him, Judith on one hip and a gun in his hand. Michonne stared at him, stunned, as Rick raced out the doorway with his pistol still raised.

"I... I heard voices," Gabriel said. "So I snuck out the back door and went around. It sounded like I would be of use out here." The priest looked utterly shocked when Rick pulled off his sheet of walker guts, strode over, and grasped his forearm heartily, but he took hold of Rick's forearm, also.

"I take back anything I ever said or thought about you," Rick exclaimed, and Gabriel beamed.

"And you," Rick said, turning towards Michonne, "come here." As Gabriel headed back into the infirmary to give them some privacy, Rick scooped her up in his arms in a long, warm hug. She pulled back slightly after several moments, but he ducked his head and captured her in a kiss. Her head spun at the feel of Rick's lips on hers. The kiss was soft and gentle but seemed to signal an ache for more. He cradled her head in one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist. When his arm brushed against her gunshot wound, Michonne flinched involuntarily, breaking the kiss.

"God, I'm sorry," Rick murmured, concern washing over his face.

Michonne shook her head. "Carl?"

"She's going to do everything she can."

"Let's get inside. More walkers will be coming... and I need to take care of this," Michonne said, shrugging her right shoulder.

"You know to remove a bullet?" Rick asked, amazed.

"I watched Hershel when he dug that one out of my thigh. These days, that's practically like going to medical school," she sighed. "Come on." And they walked side-by-side back into the infirmary.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 1

As Rick and Michonne were about to reenter the infirmary, they noticed Eugene, Tara, and Rosita hurrying towards them. Eugene was carrying Morgan slumped over his back, while the two women had Carol propped up between their shoulders, dragging her along. Carol's head rolled this way and that, as if she were fighting a losing battle against slipping back into unconsciousness. Several walkers were close on their heels, and Rick and Michonne ran to cut them down as the rest of their people made their way inside the infirmary.

"Damn it!" Denise swore at the interruption as she bent over Carl. "I can't take care of so many people all at once by myself."

"We'll handle them, you focus on Carl," Rick assured her. Rosita washed up and joined Denise at her work. Carefully, Rick took Carol from Tara and motioned for everyone to come into the next room to give Denise space while Michonne gathered what she needed to care for her wound. Rick gently laid Carol on a couch, and Eugene deposited Morgan into an easy chair in the corner.

Eugene and Tara started speaking at the same time.

"We found them in the lock-up—"

"One of those wolf people were there and he took Denise—"

"Carol and Morgan were prostrate upon the floor—"

"And the walkers were getting in and —"

Rick held up a hand. "Whoa, whoa. One at a time."

Eugene nodded to Tara, who began to explain in a more coherent fashion. "We got caught by the walkers and ran into the house above the lock-up. When the walkers started breaking in, we ran downstairs and found Carol and Morgan on the floor, and a wolf holding Denise hostage. He made us give up our weapons, then he took off with Denise. The walkers started coming downstairs, and we couldn't hold them back, so we had to run. I don't think Morgan and Carol are seriously hurt. I think the wolf just knocked them out. I —" she stopped suddenly, then asked in an incredulous voice, "Michonne, are you doing surgery on yourself?"

The warrior was indeed sitting on the floor in a corner, digging the bullet out of her bicep with sterilized instruments. "Minor surgery," Michonne acknowledged dismissively. "And we took care of that son of a bitch. Specifically, Father Gabriel did."

Rick nodded and said, "He stepped up." However, his eyes were on Michonne, admiring her self-control. With a grimace of pain, Michonne pulled the bullet out with a long pair of tweezers and tossed it aside. Rick stooped beside her and said, "Let me sew you up."

"You know how?"

"I did it to myself when the Governor's bullet grazed my leg. Tore the skin wide open, but I took care of it." He poured some hydrogen peroxide into a small bowl and used it to sterilize the needle and thread before setting to work. Though her facial expressions at times betrayed the pain she felt, she stayed absolutely still while he stitched shut her wound. When he was done, he washed the entire area with more peroxide and wrapped it snugly in a clean bandage. Fully aware that the others were likely watching him, Rick leaned over and gently kissed her shoulder when he was done. Tara smiled a little and looked away. Michonne felt her face grow warm, but as she got to her feet, she only said, "Thanks for the help."

"What was the wolf doing here at all?" Eugene asked. "I thought they'd all been killed or chased off."

Rick darted a glance at Morgan's prone figure, one eyebrow raised. "I'll have to deal with that later."

"More of the herd are coming," Tara warned. "They're thicker towards the front of town, but they're making their way back here."

"We have to secure this place as best we can," Michonne directed. "Close every window, shut the blinds, lock the doors, push furniture up against them. For Carl, this place has to hold."

Rick caught her eye. "And then we'll go out and face them together."

"Together," she confirmed. "We won't let them get near Carl and Denise."

"Rick," Tara asked hesitantly, "will Carl be okay?"

"He'll have to be," Rick replied, his face darkening.

Michonne interjected, "Let's focus on doing the one thing we can for Carl: keeping this place safe."

Nodding, Rick asked, "Is everyone armed?" They all answered affirmatively except Tara. Rick handed her Carl's machete and Jessie's pistol.

Eugene spoke up. "I'm... I'm not sure that I can in good conscience accept so heavy a responsibility as guarding this surgeon's ward," he hedged, his voice shaking. "Frankly, I would be as out of place as a chick at a cock fight."

Rick looked him in the eye. "You can do this. You helped save Tara when that run went south. You ran through a walker attack to get Morgan to safety. You just start swinging and don't stop. It's simple as that."

Eugene nodded. "If we emerge victorious, people will compose songs and write stories about this day. The day we fought back and preserved civilization," He straightened and took a deep breath. "It would be an honor to figure large in those songs and stories, sir."

"Excellent," Rick clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, help me with the windows and doors."

Part 2

Having eaten everything moving that they could get their hands on in the first several blocks of town, the herd began migrating further inward. Only one large clump was left near the wall, snarling and futilely reaching for Maggie as she took shelter on to the top of a lookout post. When she had used up all of her ammunition, she rolled as close as she could to the wall and lay absolutely still and quiet. Eventually, many of the walkers forgot she was there and meandered off in other directions. The rest saw their fellows leave and followed like lemmings after them. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, but even more relieved was Glenn, who watched from a distance away outside the walls. Not long after, a large fuel tanker rumbled down the road and stopped in front of the gate. Glenn saw Sasha, Abraham, and Daryl hop down from the cab of the truck and run towards the broken section of the wall, their only way in due to the gate still being locked.

"Come on," Glenn said excitedly to Enid, who was standing some distance behind him. "This is our chance."

"Are you kidding me?" the teenage girl demanded. "You saw how many there are. We'll be going to our deaths!"

"There are people fighting in there. Rick, Michonne, Carol. Carl. They'll need our help."

Enid shook her head and started to walk away. "Stop!" Glenn called. "This is our home. _Your_ home. The people of Alexandria took you in, kept you warm and fed and safe. Now they need your help. They need all of us." She stood still for a moment longer, then sighed and set off toward the town.

"Let's get this over with," she grumbled.

"Do you really know how to use this?" Glenn asked, holding up the handgun he had taken away from Enid earlier in the day.

She nodded. "I didn't stay alive on my own without learning a few things."

Glenn tossed her the gun. "You cover us both. I've only got my knife."

However, they did not encounter much resistance as they walked over the flattened wall. There were only two walkers between Glenn and the lookout post, and he handled them easily with his blade. "Maggie!" he hissed when he reached the bottom of his wife's hiding place. She crawled to the edge and looked over, joy spreading over her face at the sight of her husband.

"Thank God you're okay," she said, her face crinkling with tears.

"I could say the same for you," he replied as he peered up at her. "That was a close call."

Shaking her head in frustration, Maggie pointed out, "Those damned things destroyed the ladder. I'm stuck up here."

"It's better that way, anyways. Just stay quiet and out of sight, and leave the walkers to the rest of us." The last thing he wanted was his pregnant wife attempting to fight off the herd.

She nodded, seeing the sense in his words. "My gun is out of ammo, but if you make it as far as the armory, you can reload." She carefully lowered it down to him. "I love you, and _watch out_ ," she added emphatically.

"I will," Glenn promised. "I love you, too." He turned to Enid. "Come on, let's try to find some of the others. Remember: quick, quiet, and we take down any we find along the way."

Part 3

The bulk of the herd was heading straight towards the part of town in which the infirmary was located. Rick, Michonne, and the others had secured the building as well as they could. Father Gabriel had stayed behind to care for Judith and guard the house from the inside, a last defense against any walkers that might try to get inside. Denise and Rosita continued their work on Carl as the others filed out of the house to meet the oncoming threat.

Already, a few walkers were limping down the street. Tara raised her gun, but Rick stopped her. "It's just a few, don't waste your bullets." They all waited until the walkers shambled closer, and then took them down with their melee weapons. Then a few more came, and then several more. The crowd of the undead began growing thick around them, but the fighters kept a clear perimeter around the infirmary. Rick and Michonne fought side-by-side. Her sword flashed so quickly through the air that one would not know she was suffering from any injury. Rick swung his axe continually. Even Eugene became more confident in hewing down the undead with his machete, and Tara did the same, or delivered head-shots if they were too far away to reach. At one point, Michonne was so busy with three walkers that she didn't see one approaching on her left side. It grabbed hold of her arm and was about to bite deeply when Rick sliced its head cleanly in two. She only had time for quick smile and nod of appreciation before setting to work again. The dead were piling up thickly all around them, the grass of the yard slippery with thick, black blood. Many of the walkers fell on it and were crushed under the senseless feet of their fellows. However, more and more kept coming, and the defenders grew weary from their efforts. It seemed that two walkers appeared for every one they killed, and Rick began to despair that they would not be able to hold them back.

Suddenly, shots rang out from the back of the herd. Reinforcements had arrived: Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, Glenn, and Enid. They had made their way through town, mowing down any walkers they found along the way, before stopping at the armory to reload. The herd was divided into two, some turning to fight the new threat, some pressing onward in pursuit of their original prey. Many in the middle were thrown into confusion, unable to decide which way to turn, and found themselves trampled by the others. Blades flashed and shots rang out, all without mercy or pause. Slowly, the numbers of the undead dwindled. Eventually, the fighters found that they had to scan the area in front of them for a moment or two before zeroing in on one to cut down. The walkers were piled on the ground two, three, and four deep. Finally, the last one succumbed to a vicious blow from Rick's axe.

Eugene let out a whoop of joy. "I feel better than a possum with a sweet potato!" he cried. He pointed across the landscape of ruined bodies to Abraham. "Betcha you'd have thought I'd be all hat and no cattle, right? Well, look at me now!" He proceeded to do a victory dance around one of the few small patches of yard not covered in dead walkers.

The newcomers made their way towards Rick and Michonne. Rick greeted Daryl with a back-slapping hug, then exchanged a forearm handshake with Abraham. Sasha and Michonne embraced one another warmly.

"It's good to have you all back," Rick beamed.

"We did run into some trouble on the way home," Abraham admitted. "Some bastards on motorcycles tried their hand at a stick-up. Said they were with some son-of-a-bitch called Nagan or Neegan or something. Anyways," he sniggered, "nothing a little rocket-propelled grenade won't fix."

"Shame about those bikes, though," Daryl shook his head. "Couple of 'em were beautiful."

"I also brought you a present, Rick," Abraham continued. "Whole damn tanker truck full of gasoline. We won't have to worry about how to fuel our vehicles for a while."

At that moment, Rosita ran out of the infirmary and embraced Abraham. He had a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face, but he returned the hug. Denise also stepped through the front door, drying her hands on a clean towel. "Rick?" she called. Rick nodded to her, then addressed the others.

"It's amazing, but I think we've killed off most of the walkers. Still, there have to be more wandering around town. You should canvass the area and pick off any that are remaining. Be careful: they may be bunched up in spots. You'll likely find survivors hiding here and there; if they're armed and willing, you should let them try to help you." He turned to Michonne and requested, "Would you stay with me?"

Abraham looked as if we were about to argue that they would need her help, but Rosita elbowed him. Michonne answered with a firm, "Yes", and the two walked side-by-side back into the infirmary. As they strode up the steps, Rick took her hand in his and held it tightly, his face white in anticipation of the news awaiting him inside. Michonne squeezed back.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 1

" _There wasn't much for me to do, really. The bullet went in and out cleanly._ "

Rick heard Denise's words, though they sounded indistinct and far off.

 _"— stopped the bleeding and closed up the wound as best I could —_ "

He was only truly aware of two things: the rise and fall of Carl's chest, and the feel of Michonne's hand in his.

" _Of course, the eye was already gone. There's nothing to be done about that_ —"

He gripped her hand more tightly.

"— _exenteration of the eye is entirely survivable. It's the possibility of brain damage that_ — "

At these words, Rick tore his gaze from the prostrate figure of his son on the exam table and focused on the doctor standing before him. "Brain damage?" he asked.

Denise's words came in clearer, louder. "There's no way for me to know right now. Obviously, if I had access to an MRI or CT scan, we would know more. There's something called the Glasgow Coma Scale, and right now he's at a 1 on the scale: no response visually or verbally, and no movement. He's completely out of it. We'll know more when he wakes up. In the meantime, it's good news that there's no evidence of swelling in his cranium."

Shifting his weight to one leg, Rick squinted and asked, "What do we do until he wakes up?"

"There's not much to do," Denise admitted. "Keep the wound clean. Watch for signs of swelling. He should have someone with him in case he wakes up... maybe set up a watch rotation."

Michonne spoke up. "We won't leave him. One of us will be here at all times."

"I think he should stay here until he regain consciousness," Denise cautioned. "It's probably safe to move him, but if his condition worsens, it's best for me to be close at hand."

"Yes, of course," Rick agreed. "But where? We can't keep him on a steel table."

Her eyes widened. "No, certainly not. No, there are bedrooms upstairs where he can stay. One is mine, of course, but this is a big house, and there are several spare rooms you can choose from. You're welcome to have one for your own, too."

Shaking his head, he asserted, "I'll sleep in the same room with Carl. I don't want him to be alone for a moment."

Michonne laid her hand on Rick's arm. "You could use another room for yourself. You won't be the only one watching over him. When you're not on duty, you'll need a place to get some rest."

He nodded, seeing the sense in this, appreciating her thoughtfulness. "Two rooms, then. And thanks for this, Denise."

"That's what I'm here for," she responded modestly. She sighed and scratched the back of her head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I have two more unconscious people in the next room that need seeing to."

Part 2

Gingerly, Rick and Michonne laid Carl down on the soft, clean sheets covering the bed. Now that Rick no longer had adrenaline coursing through his system, it had taken both of them to carry the teenager up the stairs to the spare bedroom. Father Gabriel, bouncing Judith on one hip, had followed them up the steps to say that he would keep Judith downstairs and attend to her as long as they needed him.

Michonne slipped off Carl's shoes and covered him with a light blanket. They stood together by the side of the bed for a moment, studying his face. Denise had cleaned away all the blood and wrapped the wound in a clean bandage. Carl's chest rose and fell evenly, and Rick found that watching the motion was comforting, almost hypnotic. He reached for Michonne and wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a hug.

"Thank you," he murmured, his face half-buried in her dreads.

"For what?" Her breath was warm against his neck, her arms around his waist.

"For stopping Ron from shooting me. For helping me get Carl here safely. For getting Denise away from that madman —" he stopped, his voice catching in his throat.

"Hey," she pulled back slightly and looked him in the eye. "We take care of each other. That's how we are."

"Yeah," he agreed and managed a small smile, though it was tinged with sorrow.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs prompted Michonne to draw away, though Rick didn't move. Rosita stuck her head in the doorway and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you guys? Abraham came by and said everything looks clear. Now they just have to clean up, which will be one hell of a job. Can I go to your house, get you anything to make you more comfortable?"

Rick was about to decline her offer when Michonne spoke up. "You could get us some clean clothes."

"Sure. Be back soon."

A half hour later, Rick stood under the hot stream of water issuing from the shower in the bathroom down the hall from Carl's room. The daylight was fading fast, and Michonne had insisted he clean up and get some rest while she took first watch. Though he was sure she was just as exhausted as he was, he didn't want to argue with her about it. The events of the day played on an endless loop in his mind, especially the moment that Ron snapped and tried to kill his entire family. He kept seeing the gun firing, Michonne narrowly escaping death, the gun firing again, then Carl falling to the ground. He went through the motions of cleaning his body, toweling off, and getting dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants Rosita had delivered, but his thoughts were far away, focused on those few seconds in time. A shot, Michonne's swing going wild, her blood flying through the air. Another shot, Carl's face, so much blood...

 _If he dies, it'll be my fault_ , Rick thought grimly. _If Michonne had died, it would have been my fault. Should have seen it coming, should have known that Ron was capable of it._

As he exited the bathroom, he heard voices coming from Carl's room. From the sound of it, Tara had come to offer to take Judith back home and care for her. Michonne's words of acceptance and thanks floated down the hallway as he closed his bedroom door. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, a fitful sleep filled with nightmares overtaking him almost immediately.

Part 3

The horizon outside his window was shot with the pink and gold of dawn when Michonne roused him from his slumber. She was still wearing her clothes from the previous day, though they were stiff with blood and stank. Rick didn't mind the smell, though; it was a potent reminder that she had fought all day for their family and community, then stayed awake all night at his son's side. There had been no change through the night, she confirmed. "Would you stay here after your shower? Sleep in my bed?" Rick asked. She hesitated a moment at the words "my bed", but agreed, "Yeah. I'll be right here." He felt relieved knowing she wouldn't be leaving him. As she stumbled to the shower, Rick took her place in Carl's room.

He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat for a long time, watching his son breathe in and out. Thoughts of Lori filled his mind as he remembered the last time he'd sat by Carl's bedside, watching him breathe, waiting for him to wake up after being shot. Back then, Lori had wondered out loud if it was better for Carl to die than for him to keep fighting for survival in their shattered world. _What would she say if she saw him now?_ Rick sighed inwardly. _She'd blame me. Tell me it's my fault... my fault for not keeping him safe. My fault for not seeing Ron for the threat he was. For thinking I could fix it all to be just like it used to be, have everything the way I wanted it. And she'd be right._

Resting his elbows on his knees, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. _I thought I could make it all work, build a life for us here like we used to have. A home. And I thought..._ His chest felt constricted, and it was difficult to breathe. _We could have had all of this. Lori and me and Carl and Judith. All of us, together. If she just hadn't died, if I could have just kept her alive, we could have all been here and been happy, together. Lori would have wanted this, wanted a place just like this. It would have been perfect. And I knew she... she wasn't her. She could never be her. But damn it if it didn't feel close sometimes. There was just something in the way that she... I don't know. I don't even know. But sometimes, it was like Lori was looking right back at me, talking to me again._

He sighed and dug his knuckles into his closed eyelids, but the scenes of all the mistakes he had made since entering the ASZ's gates for the first time kept replaying in his mind. _I thought it was a sign, I thought it meant something. It didn't make sense, but I was so sure that in time it would make sense._ He opened his eyes and stared at Carl's chest, still moving up and down. The look in his eyes became steely. _And she wanted me, I know that she did. She wanted it just as much as I did. It was all there, all for the taking, just had to get rid of her bastard husband, and once I did that... we could have it, have all of it, just like it would have been._

His own words of condemnation echoed back to him in his mind. _You're gonna kill me in cold blood? Screw my wife? Have my children — my children — call you daddy? That life won't be worth a damn._

 _Won't be worth a damn._

 _You won't be able to live with this._

 _It wasn't worth a damn, and I can't live with this._

He broke down then, burying his face into Carl's mattress as sobs racked his body. Then he pulled off his wedding ring and hurled it into a corner of the room, so enraged at himself that he shook. He grabbed Carl's blanket in handfuls, desperate to hold on to anything through this pain. _Lori's dead. She's been dead all this time, and I've been chasing ghosts, and I nearly got everyone killed because of it. Carl wouldn't be in this bed if I had just accepted that she was gone, if I had just let her go._

A shot, two shots, blood everywhere. He saw it all, like it was happening right then.

 _I can't live with this._


	5. Chapter 5

Part 1

Michonne had stayed in the shower far too long. She had scrubbed her entire body three times. Four times, she had soaped her dreads with her own lavender-scented shampoo thoughtfully brought by Rosita. Still, she wasn't sure she would ever feel clean again. She had killed more walkers yesterday afternoon than she ever had in one battle, and the stench of them still clogged up her sinuses. Eventually, however, the hot water gave out, and she supposed she was as clean as she was ever going to get. She stepped out and dried off, dodging her discarded clothes piled on the ground. She would prefer burning them to washing them, but she knew it wasn't sensible to waste clothing just because it was filthy. Four or five runs through the washer would probably get them clean again.

The hot shower had helped relieve some of the soreness in her muscles, but between the overexertion and the lack of sleep, she was still a little stiff and awkward in putting on the clean clothes Rosita had delivered. Once she was dressed, she looked down at herself. "Seriously?" she thought. The sweatpants her friend had chosen were low-slung and rode far down on her hips, and the skin-tight tank top stopped just below her navel, leaving a few inches of her firm lower belly in view. Michonne sighed. Rosita had urged her on several occasions to show some more skin, but this was going a little far. She decided to think the best of her friend and assume she had simply grabbed the first comfortable-looking clothes she had found, and had not really intended to force Michonne into showing off her assets for Rick. Now was hardly the time, after all. The man had enough on his mind without the distraction of feminine wiles. _He'll likely think I'm trying to get him to kiss me again._ She shook her head at the thought of that kiss, impetuous and reckless as it had been. _He was so relieved to have me alive and the wolf dead, instead of the other way around, that he lost his head. It didn't mean anything._

 _Well,_ _whether Rosita did it on purpose or not,_ Michonne thought resignedly, _they're the only clean clothes I've got. They'll have to do._

She bundled up her dirty garments in a towel and padded downstairs to ask Denise where she could find the washing machine. The doctor was busy tending to one of the Alexandrians who had apparently broken an arm in a fall during the herd attack. "Through the hall and to the right, behind the folding doors," Denise called over her shoulder. "By the way, Carol and Morgan woke up. I checked them over, and I think they're both fine, though definitely a little worse for wear from the scuffle with that wolf. Daryl and Glenn came by and helped them get back home."

"Thanks for filling me in," Michonne replied before continuing on to the laundry. As she turned on the machine, she yawned widely enough to make her jaw pop. It had been a long time since she'd last felt this exhausted, physically or emotionally. The bed upstairs was practically calling to her. Rick's bed. She blushed a little at the thought but scolded herself for being silly. _It's not as if he's going to be joining me or anything. It's just a place to rest close by him and Carl._

 _Carl..._ she sighed inwardly _. God, how I love that boy. Please, please let him make it through this._

On her way back up the stairs, she stopped at the door of Carl's room. She was sure she heard the sound of mournful crying. Bracing herself for what she might find within, she swung the door open. Carl was still lying there peacefully, his chest gently rising and falling, but Rick was on his knees on the floor beside the bed, grasping handfuls of the blanket, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. Her weariness suddenly evaporated at the sight. She knelt down beside him and squeezed his shoulder gently. He turned and embraced her, his tears falling on her neck. "He's alive, Rick. That means a lot," she said comfortingly. "His body is doing what is has to do right now to repair itself: he's resting. He could wake up perfectly fine."

Rick sat back and shook his head, swiping his palms across his eyes. "It's not that. I mean, yes, it's horrible that he's hurt, and God knows what's going to happen. But it's... it's worse that he's hurt because of _me_."

"Because you weren't able to stop Ron?"

"No," he answered in despair. "Because I gave him the reasons to pull the trigger in the first place."

Michonne was quiet for a long moment before asking, "Do you think Ron was right? Yes, you killed his dad. But his mom, his brother, he blamed you for them, too. You're thinking Ron was justified in blaming you?"

"I got his whole family killed." He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if the thoughts were too painful to process. "I promised her I would protect her and her boys, and I didn't, I couldn't."

"When did you promise? I was with Deanna sometimes, so maybe I missed it, but I didn't hear any promise."

"It was... it was before," Rick muttered. He stared at his hands, open and helpless in his lap.

"Before what?" Michonne's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Before everything," he admitted. "Before the fight with Pete. Before I killed him. Before everything."

"You meant that you would keep Jessie and the boys safe from Pete?"

"I meant... I, I meant..." Rick's voice trailed off.

Michonne grasped him firmly by the shoulder, drawing his gaze up to her face. "Rick? What did you mean when you made that promise?"

He confessed, "I meant I would get rid of him, and I would take his place."

The words kept her from being able to breathe or think for a moment. The shock she felt must have been plain to see in her expression, because Rick covered his face with both hands and wept again. She said aloud the only thought her mind could process: "Why?"

His voice was no more than a whisper. "So that she could take Lori's place."

Tears formed in her own eyes at his words. She slid closer to him, and pulled him to her. He laid with his head in her lap and his arms holding her tightly around her waist. "I miss her," he groaned. "I miss her so much. I wanted to feel her again."

"What you had with Lori was special, Rick," Michonne said gently. "It was unique, something the two of you built together. I know how it hurts that she's gone, that you can't have those same feelings and experiences again. I know what that feels like."

Part 2

Rick sat up and looked intently into Michonne's eyes. He could see that she did know. She had loved and lost, just as he had.

"You have to move on," she continued. "You'll keep driving yourself crazy if you only focus on what you don't have anymore, what you can't have. You have to make something new for yourself with someone else. It won't be like it was with Lori, but it'll be its own thing, good and beautiful in its own way."

What she said made made sense. It resonated with him on a deep level. He felt the truth in her words down in his bones. "For so long, there's been only fear and responsibility and death pressing in on every side. I just..." he sighed. "I just want something better than that. Something to live for. We spend every day trying to survive, and why? So we can get up and do it all over again?" He shook his head. "No, there has to be more."

Her smile was gentle and kind. "There is more. You can have something better with someone who loves you. You just have to focus on what can be instead of what was."

He hesitated before asking the question that scared him the most. "Was it my fault, Michonne? Is Carl lying there because of me?" He dreaded her answer, but he needed to hear it.

She was quiet for a long moment before responding. "It's hard to say. Probably, if you hadn't killed Pete, it would have all gone down differently. Ron likely hated you and looked for a chance to hurt you from that moment on. So the real question is: were you wrong to kill Pete?" He nodded, following her logic. "On the face of it, I don't think you were. He snapped. He killed Reg. He was obviously a threat. We eliminate threats; it's what we do. If you had not shot him, I would have.

"But then again," she sighed, "your motives were... impure. It wasn't just about carrying out justice or protecting the defenseless. You're accountable for both what you do and why you do it." She softened her voice, and Rick knew she was about to say something particularly painful. "So I think it is correct to say to some extent... yes, this is your fault."

Her words cut him to the core, but he knew she was right in her judgment. He shook his head in sorrow. "If I hadn't gone after Pete to get to Jessie, this wouldn't have happened.

"Maybe it would be better if...," he stopped in mid-sentence, then continued shakily, "Did you know this is the second time Carl's been shot?"

She nodded. "Hershel told me the story."

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, holding back another wave of tears. "At the time, Lori said maybe it would be better for him to die." Michonne drew in a sharp breath at this, but he plowed on. "She said that he would be at peace. Maybe she was right. Maybe it's supposed to end like this. I can't protect him. Hell, I put him in harm's way. But if he dies, he wouldn't be hungry or hurt or scared anymore. It would just all stop for him."

Michonne rose to her feet, her eyes flaming in righteous indignation. "And then there would be no more Carl. He would be gone forever. Do you really think that's _best_?" She began pacing back and forth in front of the bed. "You would never know the kind of man he could grow up to be. You would never get to hear him laugh or tell a joke again. You'd never feel that swell of pride when you see him make a good decision or do the right thing. Your wife died, Rick. Is it better that she's gone?" He winced at her words, but she refused to relent. "Does it give you peace to know that she's not hungry or in danger anymore? No, there is no peace in death. There's only emptiness, and a burden that we who survive have to carry every day. It's difficult enough when it's your lover. But when it's your _child_?" She sighed and slumped wearily into a chair. "No. It would not be better. You don't even know what you're talking about. Ask anyone who has lost a child. Ask Morgan. Ask Carol. They'll tell you. They would give anything — _anything_ — to have him back."

Rick got to his feet and walked over to her chair. He crouched down and took her hands in his. "Who is 'him'?" he asked gently.

Her eyes widened. "What?" she whispered.

"You said, 'him', 'they would give anything to have _him_ back.' Not them, 'him.'" His eyes searched hers intently, trying to discover the answer to the mystery. "Who was it, Michonne? Who did you lose?"

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as if she were unable to decide the right thing to say. Finally, she set her face resolutely, and her vulnerability vanished. He felt the thick curtain of her self-control slide back into its place between them. "Rick, in the last twenty-four hours, I've been shot, held hostage, and almost eaten by walkers. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed." She walked out of the room without turning to look at him again, closing the door quietly behind her. Rick was left alone with his sleeping son and a muddle of questions to which he needed answers.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 1

Rick carefully nudged the door open with his foot, as his hands were busy carrying a bowl of steaming hot soup. After setting it down on the top of a dresser, he walked around the bed to the edge on which Michonne was sleeping, curled up on her side. He crouched down next to her and watched her slumbering for a moment. Gently, he brushed aside a couple of her dreads that were covering her face. The movement must have woken her up because she rolled onto her back, stretched, and opened her eyes, gazing back at him somewhat blearily.

"Good morning, beautiful," he grinned at her.

"Stop," she commanded, covering her face with one hand, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Good afternoon, I should say. It's 4:35 pm, and you've been asleep for over 10 hours."

She sat up and asked, "Who's with Carl?"

"Carol. She brought over some food and offered to sit with him this evening."

"How is he?"

"Same as before," he replied, easing himself down onto the bed. "Denise put in a feeding tube through his nose, goes straight down to his stomach. She said she wasn't confident she could put in the other kind without making a mistake, so I told her this one would be safer."

Michonne nodded. "My grandmother had one of those when she was in the nursing home. She had it for a long time, and it worked well."

"Whatever we have to do to keep him fed and hydrated until he wakes up. Thank God Pete kept this place stocked with all kinds of medical equipment." They simultaneously found that the mention of Pete brought to mind that morning's conversation, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room for a minute.

Rick cleared his throat. "Well, you hungry?"

"Hell yes," she replied. "I feel like I could eat a horse. What smells so good?"

"Chicken noodle soup. Carol brought it with her. It's canned chicken, of course, but it's pretty good. I have some over here for you." She pushed herself up in bed and sat with her legs crisscrossed. He brought her the bowl, then pulled a chair next to the bed. "Carol had a lot to tell me when got here," he informed Michonne and proceeded to give her Carol's account of Morgan and the wolf.

She swallowed a large gulp of soup before saying, "I knew something was up as soon as I saw the guy. No way he was hanging around outside the wall and came in when it fell down. He had to have been here the whole time."

Rick rubbed his eyes irritably. "It was so stupid of me not to check the lock-up after Morgan admitted to letting some of those people go. I should have made sure he wasn't keeping any prisoners."

She shrugged. "It didn't occur to me, either."

"So what do we do with him now?" He looked deeply into her eyes, hoping she had some wisdom about the matter. He felt at a loss as to how to proceed.

"Morgan is the way he is. We shouldn't think or hope that he's going to change. Maybe he will, but we can't expect that. If we let him stay, we're saying that we accept who he is and won't ask anything different from him. Do you want him to stay?" she asked.

"He's a skilled fighter. He won't kill, but he could be an asset in defending our home. And he saved my life, took me in, brought me up to speed when I woke up from my coma. I can't just turn my back on him."

Michonne finished her soup and set the bowl on the nightstand. She stretched out her legs and leaned her back against the headboard. "He's consistent, at least. He's not crazy or unpredictable. What he did makes sense with his philosophy. Maybe we tell him he can stay, and we won't ask or expect him to do anything that conflicts with his convictions, but in turn, he has to be completely honest with us in the future."

He nodded. "A compromise. He stays here, stays a part of this community —"

"— if he agrees to submit to our leadership," she finished. "Ultimately, he makes the decision. His fate rests in his own hands, but we're giving him an opportunity."

Rick marveled at her insight. Before talking with her, he had been almost convinced that he had no choice but to turn his friend out into the dangerous world on the other side of the wall, a decision that would have brought him much sorrow. Now he could see that there was another way, one that neither absolved Morgan of all guilt nor dealt with him mercilessly. Rick's gaze moved from her soft brown eyes to her full lips, then down to the ample cleavage and the wide swath of her muscular belly left bare by her tank top, admiring every inch along the way. He retraced the path, and thought, _She is amazing. In every way._

"There's a hell of a lot of work going on outside," Rick noted, trying to sound casual. He pointed with a thumb over his shoulder towards a window. "You want to go out there with me? I'm sure they could use the help."

"Yeah," Michonne agreed. "It would be good to keep busy at something for a while."

They walked together out of the infirmary and met up with Abraham, who was overseeing the reconstruction of the town. The most pressing need was to repair the wall, he informed them, but he already had a crew of ten men hard at work on the task. Second in priority was dealing with all of the dead bodies, both walkers and Alexandrians. Already a large pile of walkers had been formed in one of the fields to await burning. Abraham gave them the choice of dragging more dead walkers to the mound or digging graves for the dead townspeople. Having had their fill of walkers the previous day, they picked up shovels and walked towards the graveyard. Glenn was there, digging away, too, and as they worked together, he filled them in on everything: Maggie's pregnancy (both Rick and Michonne offered him hearty congratulations), getting trapped in the alley, Nicholas' suicide, finding Enid and making their way back home. He paused in the middle of his task and pulled a note out of his pants pocket.

"I found David, too, though of course he was dead. This was on the ground beside him. I think it's a note for his wife. I've been meaning to find her and give it to her, but there's been so much to do, I sort of forgot about it for a while."

Rick hung his head and said, "She's gone, Glenn. When Michonne brought back news that David had died, she committed suicide."

"Damn," Glenn sighed. "I don't blame her, but that's... that's just so damned tragic." He fidgeted with the note in his hand. "They have kids or anything?"

"No," Michonne answered. "They had only been married a few months."

"So, what do you guys think I should do with this, then? It doesn't feel right to just throw it away."

Rick reached out his hand. "Here, I'll take it. I'll find a safe place for it... like a memento."

Glenn gave it to him with a thankful expression, and turned back to his work. For a long while, the three dug in silence. Eventually, Glenn hoisted himself out of his hole, stretched wearily, and announced that he needed a break. When he had moved out of earshot, Michonne asked Rick, "You know what we were talking about last night, about Carl?"

"Yeah?" Rick pushed his shovel deep into the soil with his boot.

"You feel any different about it?"

He stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow, taking a moment before answering. He gestured to the graves they were digging. "I don't want Carl in one of these. I want him with us."

She rewarded him with one of her thousand-watt smiles. "I'm glad to hear it."

Part 2

After stopping at their house for more clothes, Rick and Michonne returned to the infirmary a couple of hours later. Though the physical labor had been demanding, it felt good to take part in cleaning up their home. They had seen everyone hard at work: moving bodies, reconstructing the wall, removing rubble from ruined homes. Rick had watched while the people he loved like family came alongside the Alexandrians to fix all that had been broken, and he had to admit, it had been a moving sight. Darkness was falling now, and Rick and Michonne went to Carl's room to relieve Carol from her post. She sat by the bed reading a novel. Looking up from her page when they walked in, she informed them that there had been no change; Carl had slept peacefully the entire time they were gone. Once Carol left, Michonne shooed Rick away to shower and get in bed. She settled herself down with a book of her own: a historical fiction she had found on one of Denise's shelves.

Late in the night, she was fighting against the urge to doze off when she was startled by a light tapping on Carl's door. Opening it, she found Maggie standing on the other side. The two embraced in a warm hug, having not had a chance to see one another since the herd attack.

"Glenn told us about your surprise," Michonne grinned. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm fine. The morning sickness has already worn off. That part was no fun, but I feel like myself again now. Anyways, I can't seem to get to sleep, and I figured if I'm up anyways, I might as well come over here and let you get some rest," Maggie offered.

"That's so sweet of you," Michonne replied. "If you're sure?"

"Yeah, no problem," her friend assured her. "Go on."

Twenty minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered, and went into the bedroom in which Rick was sleeping. Gently, she shook one of his shoulders until his head rose off the pillow and he mumbled, "Is it time to get up already?"

"No, it's in the middle of the night. I just wanted to tell you that Maggie came over, and she's with Carl. I'm going to go to bed myself."

He sat up fully at her words and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Okay... where?"

"Where what?"

"Where are you going to bed at?"

 _Good question_ , she thought. Rick was occupying this one. She didn't want to go home because it felt like being too far away. "There are two other spare bedrooms," she replied. "I guess I'll take one of those. I don't think Denise will mind for one night."

He stared intently at her, and his expression seemed to indicate he was gathering his courage for something. He asked her quietly, "Would you lay down here with me?"

She was surprised by his request, but after a moment, she answered softly, "Yes." She didn't like to deny him anything that she didn't have to, and considering the precarious state of Carl's health, she figured he wanted the comfort of having someone close by. Rick pulled down the covers for her, and she slid into bed next to him. She felt a little relieved when he did not move closer to her. _We're both fully clothed. He's on his side, I'm on mine. There's nothing inappropriate about this_ , she thought. _This is fine. We slept beside each other while we were on the road. This isn't all that different._

As she drifted off to sleep, she felt Rick take her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. It felt good.

Part 3

Sometime in the still, dark night, Michonne, half-awake, felt Rick slide over to her, pressing his chest against her back. His arm wrapped around her, and his breath was warm on her neck. Both of them slept on, comforted by one another's touch.

In the pale light of early dawn, she awoke to find herself in Rick's embrace. His strong arms around her felt so good, so natural, that for a time she didn't question it. She was turned away from him and could not see his face, and she wondered if he was still asleep. Stretching slightly, she arched her back, and her bottom brushed against his morning stiffness. The way his breath hitched at the contact confirmed that he was not asleep. That small gasp caused her womanhood to clench hard with desire. Gently, he pressed his lips to her shoulder, then again, closer up to her neck. There was a hesitancy in his kiss, an implied question: _Is this okay?_ When she didn't stop him, he sucked on the delicate skin of the side of her neck, and she felt him grow longer and harder against her. "Michonne," he whispered, his voice full of longing.

She pulled away suddenly and sat up, moving towards the edge of the bed. He reached for her, confusion written all over his face. "I can't do this," she said, tears springing up in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just — I can't."

Rick asked her as gently as he could, "Why? Am I... am I not what you want?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, that's not it. There's nothing wrong with you. It's that..." she struggled to explain it. "I'm not looking for anything like this, Rick. I'm just fine on my own."

He tossed the blanket aside and scooted next to her. "What does that mean? 'Fine on my own'?" he asked, his eyes staring hard into hers.

"It means I don't want a lover," she said firmly. "I don't want a husband. I don't want anything like that from anyone. Friends, companions, yes, like family even. All of that is fine. But more? I don't want that." She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, his gaze too intense to be endured. He shifted to a spot just behind her, and when she moved to stand up, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him. "Rick, please," she groaned.

"What did he do to you?" Rick whispered in her ear. "This dead boyfriend of yours — what did he do to hurt you so much that you don't want to try again?" She broke down entirely at his words, sobbing so hard she shook. He turned her in his arms and embraced her as her tears wet his t-shirt. His fingers threaded through her dreads and held her head close against his chest. He let her cry until she had no more tears left. Then, his tone gentle but firm, he asked again, "What did he do?"

She pulled back just until she could look him in the face. "He let our son die."


	7. Chapter 7

She told him all of it.

About Andre. About her son, with his wild curls and perpetual smile. His feet quick to chase after anything that held the potential of being fun or fascinating. His tiny fingers and chubby hands, gripping her by the dreads to pull her close for good-night kisses. He drew on her walls with crayons, dented her pots and pans by pulling them out of the kitchen cabinets and banging them on the floor, and once ate an entire tube of lipstick she had bought only the day before for $70. And she had loved him all the more for the trouble. He was three years old and 38 inches worth of mischief and smiles.

The broadcasts had directed people to stay in the cities, but she and Mike and Andre had made a frantic race out of the Atlanta to get to her parents who lived out in the countryside. She had planned to take them back to the city with her, but they were already dead by the time she arrived. A neighbor had turned and eaten them both alive. Her little family of three made it back to the outskirts of Atlanta. By then, however, the city had fallen. They stood on the edge of town and listened for the sounds of civilization, and heard nothing. Mike had wanted to go onward, arguing that surely the government knew what they had been talking about, but she had refused.

Eventually, they found a sort of refugee camp a few miles outside Atlanta. By some trick of fate, Mike's best friend, Terry, had also made it there. He told them horror stories of his flight from the city, and commended her for deciding to stay away. "It's a death trap," he had told them.

Daily life in the camp went by with a deathly hue of its own. There was never enough food to eat or clean water to drink. There weren't enough tents and sleeping bags to go around. The perimeter of the camp was frequently under attack by walkers, some alone, some in little groups. Most people refused to fight them, saying they were still alive and just sick. And they did appear to be alive; they were not yet the half-decomposed horrors haunting the world today. Sometimes, you could only tell by the walk, that awkward, jerking stumble. Many people grew tired of the attacks and left the camp, only to return shortly as members of the undead themselves. She had not been afraid or hesitant to attack them, however. She saw them for what they were: mindless shells of their former selves. She was constantly busy, either with securing what her family needed to survive or fending off the dead ones. Mike, however, spiraled downhill. He made long speeches, at first, about the futility of holding on, but eventually, he almost completely stopped talking. There wasn't much of anything to go around, but when he and Terry could get their hands on alcohol or drugs, they always indulged. It helped him feel better, he argued with her, helped him deal with life as it was now. Until he stopped bothering to argue altogether. She failed to see the sickness of his mind and heart for what it was, telling herself that he was understandably depressed, and he would come back to his senses as soon as life returned to something like normal. The morning she left with a crew for a run, he seemed to be having one of his good days. He was sober and lucid, and he hugged and kissed her before she left, wishing her good luck in her hunting. Andre had clung to her and cried, not wanting her to go. She had tried to explain to him that they only had a little food and water left, and she didn't want to go, she had to. Mike had pulled him away from her and reassured her he would take care of him, telling her to get going.

The crew had found a veritable treasure trove in an abandoned convenience store, and she rejoiced on her way back to the camp, her bags stuffed full with provisions. But as they approached, all was too eerily quiet. Only the groans and grunts of the undead broke the silence. The camp had been overrun in their absence by a group of walkers larger than any had seen before. She ran to their tent as fast as she could, cutting down any of the undead that her stood in her way. All except one. There, outside the tent, stood her own little Andre Anthony. Large portions of his torso and legs were missing, and his eyes were red-rimmed, all the life in them extinguished. He lunged at her, as desperate for her flesh as any walker would be. She got him in her arms, holding him down so that he couldn't bite or scratch. She wiped away the blood from his forehead and kissed him. "Goodbye, my love," she whispered, easing her blade through his temple.

Inside the tent, Mike was still alive, though he was quickly fading from a deep bite just under his rib cage. Terry had already succumbed to his wounds, though he had not yet turned. The smell of weed was thick in the air, and several bottles of alcohol had been overturned and spilled on the tent floor. "You were drinking and doing drugs?" She demanded. "Instead of protecting our son?" He begged her forgiveness with his last breaths, but her final words to him were, "No. Never."

A man in the camp had kept two large and vicious dogs on heavy chains. The dogs were dead, most of their flesh occupying the belly of some walker, but she made use of the chains. Back at her tent, she took her sword and cut off Mike and Terry's arms and jaws, rendering them powerless, looped the chains around their necks, and waited for them to turn. It didn't take long.

She was a wanderer on the earth after that. Moving here and there, always dragging her beasts of burden along behind her. Ever they were her reminder of her failure as a mother and protector. Her foolish decision to entrust Andre to Mike had cost her son's life. Mike and Terry's presence kept the loss of her boy at the forefront of her mind every moment of every day. She was sure she would spend the rest of her godforsaken days wandering and mourning.

Until Andrea. Until Rick. Until Carl.

"Until you took me in, and you gave me hope for something better," she murmured to Rick as he held her. She wiped away the tears that ran down his cheeks, tears for her and her loss. "A family, a place to belong, something to live for again."

He lowered his head and kissed her then, soft and slow, and whispered, "I love you, Michonne."


	8. Chapter 8

The kiss felt so good, so right, she couldn't help but return it. When he spoke those words, however, she simply froze and stared at him. Some part of her mind was screaming at her to make an intelligent and appropriate response, but she couldn't form the words.

A moment later, a knock landed against their bedroom door, and Maggie's muffled voice said, "Guys? I hope I'm not interrupting, uhm, anything, but I should be getting back home." Thankful for the distraction, Michonne got up a little too eagerly and swung the door wide open. Maggie looked a bit guilty as she admitted, "I dozed off for a while there, but nothing happened. He's the same as he ever was, hasn't moved a muscle."

Rick nodded to her from the bed. "Thank you for your help, Maggie."

"Anytime," she said firmly. "You two need a break, just let me know. I'm going to head home and make some oatmeal for breakfast. Want me to send over some for you?"

Michonne nodded thankfully and headed down the hall to Carl's room. Rick stayed where he was for a minute and watched her walk away.

A half hour and a brief visit from Glenn later found Rick and Michonne sitting on opposite ends of a loveseat in Carl's room, digging into steaming bowls of oatmeal with apples and cinnamon. The silence between them became too much to bear, so Rick decided to dive in. "It wasn't your fault, Michonne. You blamed yourself when you were telling me everything, but you're wrong."

Her eyebrows lifted, and she placed her bowl down on the floor before replying, "There was no way for me to see it coming? I really had no way of knowing what the consequences for my actions might be? I should have brought Andre with me, Rick. We only encountered a handful of walkers during the entire run. No problem. He would have been safer with me. Instead, I chose to leave him with someone unstable and not worthy of my trust."

"You loved Mike," Rick argued as he set down his own empty bowl. "He was his father. Of course you thought he would do the right thing and protect him. You made a reasonable assumption."

She sighed and stood, then walked to the edge of Carl's bed. "Still, it happened. I made a choice, I went with what felt right, and it turned out to be all wrong. That choice left my son in harm's way. I didn't shy away from giving you a straight answer about whether or not you were culpable, Rick. Please don't harbor any illusions that I'm not." He had no words for an adequate response, so he joined her next to the bed and silently wrapped his arms around her.

They spent the rest of the day watching over Carl and not talking much, just taking comfort from one another's presence. At lunchtime, Denise brought up heaping portions of a tuna-and-rice casserole she had made for them all. In the afternoon, they gave Carl a sponge bath and changed his sheets. Tara came around later that evening with dinner and an offer to sit with Carl for the night. When Rick walked away, Tara grabbed Michonne by the elbow and whispered conspiratorially, "I'm giving you an opportunity here! You, Rick, alone for the night, you know what I mean?"

Michonne laughed a little at her raised eyebrows and eager expression, but simply responded, "Thank you for staying with Carl, Tara." And she walked out of the room.

They spent the night together in bed again. She didn't give Rick a chance to ask her to stay. She knew that he wanted her to, and there was no reason to make him ask. She simply walked down the hall to his room, closed the door, and slid into bed. Rick paused as he sat on the edge of his side of the bed, looking over his shoulder at her. He joined her under the sheets and blankets a moment later.

There were no middle-of-the-night cuddling sessions. When she awoke in the early morning, Rick was already awake, lying on his back with one arm under his head, staring up at the ceiling. After a few moments, he noticed her eyes were open, and he turned to her. The first thing he said was a quiet but firm declaration. "I meant what I said yesterday morning."

She sat up in bed, propping herself on one elbow. "I'm not ready to be exchanging 'I love yous', Rick, and I don't think you are either," she responded honestly.

"I am," he insisted, his voice husky.

She sighed a little and climbed out of bed, walking over to one of the bedroom's windows. Outside, many of her friends and neighbors were already hard at work. The bonfire of the walkers had begun, and she could just see from where she stood that the wall looked almost complete again. Abraham had probably been requiring his men to work in shifts through the night at the task. She nodded her head towards the window. "Four days ago, we were all down in that street together. Me, you, all the kids — and Jessie. Four days ago, you were with her. You openly admitted that you went through a hell of a lot to get her. Now, just four days later, you're in love with me? I'm not... jealous or anything like that, Rick. I don't even know if I _want_ this. I'm just saying that you're not making any sense."

He joined her at the window and took one of her hands in his. "That's just it. Four days ago, we were all there. And who is here now? Jessie's not here. She's dead. In the world before, everybody lived. There were laws and policemen to keep us safe, doctors and hospitals to make us well. All of these things were... were equalizers. These days, you have to earn your keep. Not everyone can survive now, but we do. We're the ones who live, Michonne. We do anything necessary to keep ourselves and our families alive. When Carl was hurt, and then Denise showed up, and you got her free from that wolf, I realized: you and I, more than any couple here, would have a chance of making it together. I knew it, right in that moment. You stopped Ron. You got us to the infirmary one-handed _with a gunshot wound._ You didn't let Denise die. And that's just one instance of all the times you've come through for us. That was _you_ , Michonne. And where was Jessie? Dead in the street after almost killing my children to save herself. So how can there be any conflict in my heart? After all that we've lived through together, after all that we've lost, I can't think of two people as uniquely compatible as us. I've realized that I need a woman like you, Michonne: smart and strong and a _survivor_."

She pulled back and scoffed, "So you've noticed that I'm a female with a knack for staying alive. That doesn't equal love, Rick. That's... that's just you using survival of the fittest to pick a mate."

"No," he shook his head firmly. "There's more than that. That's just the beginning. I've noticed that you can make Carl laugh when no one else can. Hell, you make me laugh when I ought to be going crazy or crying or something. I've noticed that you're sweet and funny and beautiful and compassionate and hardworking and — and sexy." He blushed a little at the admission. "Should I keep listing reasons?"

When she made no reply and simply held his gaze, he cradled her face with one hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She covered her hand with his and leaned into the touch, her eyes half-closed. "I know you're scared," he murmured reassuringly. "But you don't have to be. I'll never make the mistakes he made. I'll never hurt you the way he hurt you. I swear it. Let me love you, Michonne."

She could see in his eyes that it was true. She didn't have to worry or feel too frightened to draw close to him. He could be trusted with her heart. So she did the only thing that made sense in that moment: she kissed him. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, and he was so surprised that it took him a second to return the kiss. But only a second; very soon, their kisses turned passionate and urgent. When she moaned into his mouth, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Laying her down gently, he covered her body with his. Their hips met and pushed together pleasurably, their tongues entwined, their hands explored freely everywhere. He sat up and pulled her onto him so that she straddled his lap. A moment later, they were both topless. Her hands traced the hard ridges of the muscles in his powerful back while he rubbed her breasts through the cups of her bra, kissing and licking at the cleavage spilling over. She could feel him, hard and ready, beneath her, and her womanhood ached to have him inside.

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and Tara ran in. Heedless of the scene before her, she was nearly screaming. "Carl! He's awake! Carl is awake!"


	9. Chapter 9

Part 1

Those ten or so minutes were heavenly for Rick. Michonne's skin was soft and smooth, so taut over her lean muscles. He wanted more of the taste of her skin on his tongue, more of her bare body under his fingertips. He'd forgotten how good it felt to be intimate with a woman, or had it ever felt this quite like this? She had set him hard within moments, and the anticipation of being inside her was an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain. Half of him wanted to tear her clothes off, toss her on the bed, and enter her as quickly as possible; the other half wanted to savor every kiss, every caress, every inch of skin as it was revealed. He forced himself to take it slow, to make love to her rather than pursue the hard fuck his cock was demanding. The last thing he wanted was overwhelm her or scare her off. When he pulled her onto his lap, he knew he wanted it just like this: her on top, riding him, his eyes devouring her naked body. Her breasts were plump and firm in his hands, and he needed one of them in his mouth. Reaching around her back, he loosed the first hook of her bra.

The door to their room flew open, and Tara's voice called out. His son? Awake? All thoughts of sex vanished at that second. Michonne must have felt the same way because she instantly slid off his lap and started dressing herself as quickly as she could. Rick ran down the hallway, tugging his own shirt on along the way. Upon entering Carl's room, he saw that Denise was already there. She was attempting to examine him, but he fought her off. "Who are you people? Where am I? Where's my dad?" Carl demanded furiously.

"Hey, hey," Rick called to him, rushing to his side. "I'm right here, it's okay."

Seeing his father, Carl burst into tears and reached for him. Rick wrapped him in a snug embrace and ran his fingers through his son's hair soothingly. "It's alright now. You're okay. It's all going to be okay." Now fully dressed, Michonne came in and looked on the pair with concern.

Pulling back, Carl ran his fingers over the bandage wrapped around the right side of his head, a mixture of fear and questioning on his face. "What is this place? And why is my head all wrapped up? What's going on, Dad?"

"You're at the infirmary. You were hurt a few days ago, and Dr. Cloyd's been taking care of you," Rick told him, gesturing to Denise, who stood just behind him.

Carl's face looked as confused as ever. "What do you mean, hurt? What happened?"

Rick struggled to find the right words to explain, and Michonne walked to his side. "Do you remember anything about that night, Carl?" she asked quietly and calmly.

The teenager glared at her from his one good eye. "Who the hell are you? And why are you asking me questions? I'm talking to _my dad_!"

She recoiled in horror, stammering, "What — what do you mean, who —"

"Where is Mom?" Carl's interrupted. "Is Mom here? I really want her, please," he begged and started sobbing.

Rick's mind could hardly process what Carl was saying. "Let's... let's just take it slow, okay, son? Things are a little fuzzy right now, so one thing at a time, okay?"

Carl yanked off the bandage covering his wound. "Then start with why I can't see half the room without turning my head."

Part 2

Michonne ran home as quickly as her feet would carry her to fetch Glenn. On the way back to the infirmary, she explained what Carl had said and done upon awakening, and asked him to keep the teenager company while she and Rick consulted privately with Denise. Carl remembered Glenn perfectly well, and he seemed to settle down at the sight of another familiar face. "Hey, buddy," Michonne heard Glenn saying as she shut Carl's door behind her. "Good to see you again."

Denise took them downstairs and into the exam room before beginning. "I know it's disconcerting to hear him talking this way, but it's actually not surprising. I suspected his brain might have sustained some sort of injury; it's hard to imagine a bullet coming that close to the brain without causing any problems at all."

Rick paced around the room, nervously combing his fingers through his hair. "Brain damage. My God, _brain damage_. On top of being half-blind. It'll be a death sentence in this world."

"I don't think it's as bad as all that," Denise reassured him. "He's obviously talking. He has control of the motor skills of both sides of his body — you saw when he was pushing me away! He remembers you, Rick. He remembered Glenn. I suspect his mind has sort of pushed the reset button: his memory reverted back to some other point in time. Did you and Carl meet Glenn before or after the world changed?"

"After."

She nodded. "Good. Then he'll likely remember about the walkers. He won't be expecting the old world to be outside. Of course, there's still a lot of explaining to do. His mother, for one thing."

Rick dropped onto a chair, obviously struggling to hold back tears. Michonne crouched in front of him and held his hands tightly. "He has to go through it all over again. Lori... and damn it all, he doesn't even _remember_ you, Michonne!" At this, a few tears of her own ran down her cheeks, but she brushed them away and shook her head resolutely.

"It'll be alright. We'll slowly get him caught up to speed. And maybe he'll start remembering things." She looked over her shoulder at Denise. "It's possible, right?"

"Oh, yes, entirely possible," the doctor agreed. "Now, I don't want you to get your hopes up too high. It may be that he never recovers those memories. But as his brain heals, the proper connections could be formed, and access to parts of his memory could be regained. There's just really no way to know at this point."

"Can we take him home?" Rick asked, brushing a hand at his eyes. "Maybe being somewhere familiar will help."

Denise hesitated. "I would ask you to stay here one more night so that I observe him. If he's still doing well in the morning, he can go home." At that moment, a knock sounded on the front door, and the doctor left to greet her next patient.

Taking a shaky breath, Rick stood to his feet. "We'd better get back to him, Michonne." However, she stood where she was, an uncertain look on her face. Rick paused, his hand on the doorknob. "What's wrong?" he asked, confused.

"He doesn't know me, Rick," she said slowly. "It might agitate him more having... strangers around." Tears sprang up again at the word.

He walked back to her and took her by the hand. "I need you here, Michonne. I can't do this alone. And he might start remembering things at any moment, we don't know."

She shook her head sadly. As much as she wanted to be at Rick's side through the entire ordeal, she knew she had to think of what was best for Carl first. "I'll be downstairs or in our room," she promised, blushing a little at the pronoun. "I'll be right here if you need me. I just want to give him his space right now."

Rick nodded. "That's probably wise." He drew her close and kissed her lips softly. "We're lucky to have you, me and Carl." And after another kiss, he left the room and headed up the stairs.

"I'm lucky, too," she whispered after him.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 1

As Rick strode up the stairs, Glenn's voice floated through the partially open door of Carl's room. "Yeah, we're really excited," he was saying. "Nervous, too, of course. I mean, I'm no pro at being a father. I haven't been doing it for years like your dad. But it's going to be great—" He stopped short when Rick walked into the room, then got to his feet from his seat on the edge of Carl's bed.

"Dad!" Carl greeted him with a smile. "I'm glad you're back."

"Such a friendly reception," Rick smiled back at him. "I wasn't gone long."

"I know," Carl said, his smile fading. "It's just... I feel better when you're here. I kept having these nightmares about you... well, about a lot of stuff, really."

Glenn shifted uneasily on his feet, suddenly feeling like he was listening in on a private conversation. He cleared his throat. "Rick, there's still a lot of clean-up to do around town, so I think I'll go lend a hand with that. You're all good here?"

"Sure, no problem. Thanks for coming by, Glenn," Rick replied as his friend made his exit, then turned to Carl. "What's this about nightmares, son?"

"I think they were going on most of the time I was out of it," Carl explained slowly. "I dreamt all kinds of crazy stuff. That you and everyone else was dead, and I was all alone out in the woods... that Carol got bit and turned into a walker and ate me..." He stopped talking for a long moment before quietly asking, "Is Mom dead?"

Rick found it difficult to breathe for a moment. He'd been living with a dull, painful ache of grief in his chest for months, and though it had abated the last few days during his time with Michonne, he felt it welling up again at Carl's words. Pulling a chair up to Carl's bedside, he sat down before somberly confirming, "Yes, she is."

Carl nodded. "I thought so. I mean, I was hoping that was another nightmare. But some of the dreams felt different... more like remembering. I've forgotten stuff, haven't I, Dad? Everybody keeps looking at me like I'm saying the wrong thing or not thinking right."

"You've forgotten a lot," Rick admitted honestly. "But I don't want you to worry about that. As you heal, I think it'll start coming back to you."

Carl swallowed hard before asking the next question, the one he was scared to hear the answer to. "Did I kill her, Dad? Did I kill Mom?"

Rick had to take a moment to steady his voice before replying, "I think she was probably already gone, Carl. Or at least almost so. You did the only thing that could have been done for her: you kept her from turning."

"And the baby?" Carl asked. "I remember when Mom was dying... there was a baby. Do we have a baby, Dad?"

Rick's smile was bittersweet. It pained him that his son didn't remember more about his sister, but at least he finally had some good news for Carl. "Yeah, we do. Judith."

"Judith," Carl turned the name over on his tongue. "I picked that name." It was a statement, not a question. Rick took heart at the sight of his son already piecing together some memories.

"Well," he agreed. "You couldn't very well let Daryl go around calling her 'Lil Ass-Kicker'." Father and son shared a small laugh. "She's more of a toddler now than a baby, though. Her first birthday is coming up, and she's already walking."

Carl's mouth fell open. "A year? I... I guess I'm missing more than I thought." He fiddled awkwardly with his bandage before continuing. "Uhm, Dad... look, I'm sorry I was rude to your friend earlier. The black woman." Inwardly, Rick winced a little at the crude characterization. He had never thought of Michonne as merely "the black woman", but what his son needed right now was patience.

"It's alright," he reassured him. "You were disoriented and frightened. That's enough to put anybody on edge. Michonne understands."

"Michonne..." Carl turned the name over on his tongue like it was strange and new. "Is that French?"

He nodded. "Creole. She told me once that most of her family is from Louisiana. And she's your friend, too, not just mine. You and her have been through a lot together."

Carl pondered that new information for a moment, then asked, "Is she your girlfriend, Dad?"

Eyes widened in surprise, Rick asked, "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know," Carl hedged. "Something about the look you gave each other, I guess. And you went together to talk with the doctor. If Mom's been gone for almost a year, I thought... maybe you have a girlfriend now."

Rick thought carefully for a moment about how to answer before deciding that being completely honest was the best approach. He sat back in his seat and sighed, wiping his palms down the legs of his jeans. "I don't know. I don't think she is, but... it's complicated right now. There's been a lot going on."

"But you want her to be? You sound like you do." Carl pressed.

"Yeah, I do," Rick admitted. "That's how I want it."

Part 2

Shortly after Rick returned to Carl's room, Michonne found Tara talking with Maggie in the living room downstairs. After seeing the way her husband had been frantically called to the infirmary, Maggie had thought she should come by to check on them all. "How is he doing?" she asked.

"Well, he's awake and talking and moving," Michonne replied. "It seems like there's a lot that he doesn't remember though... a whole lot," she added in a quieter voice.

Tara's brow wrinkled in concern. "That's so sad."

"Denise says it could be temporary. We're just going to try to take it one day at a time, I guess. Thanks so much for sitting with him."

Tara waved her hand dismissively. "No problem at all. And, uhm, it gave me a reason to be around here, you know?" She arched her eyebrow suggestively. "Denise came in, and we had plenty of time to talk while I was sitting there."

Michonne gave her a surprised but pleased look. "You and Denise, huh?"

"You and Rick, huh?" Tara immediately whipped in response. Blushing furiously, Michonne's eyes darted to Maggie, but it was too late.

"What!" Maggie demanded excitedly. It was too late to deny it, so Michonne waved her hand permissively at Tara.

"I walked in on them," Tara explained. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"No, it's fine," Michonne reassured her. "Rick obviously needed to get in there right away."

"Can I ask what's going on with you guys?" she probed. "Is it just sex, or is it serious? I've always thought you would make a great couple, but I don't want to get all excited and start picking out your wedding dress for you if you're just in it for the dick."

"Tara!" Michonne exclaimed, and the three laughed uproariously. _After these last few days_ , she thought warmly, _it feels good just to laugh with someone._ "No, we're not just friends-with-benefits or something, but I really don't know what it's going to end up being. We're still... figuring it out."

"What do you want it to be?" Maggie pressed. "Think pie-in-the-sky with us. If you could have it the way you want it, what would it be?"

She was silent for a long time, weighing and considering. "I'm not sure."

"Are you in love with him?" Maggie asked bluntly.

Michonne's mouth worked as she tried to come up with the answer. "I... no, I'm not. Maybe I could be, but..." She thought of Mike, of their life together in their beautiful condo, the good times they had shared. "Not yet. It's just too soon."

"Is he in love with you?"

"He says he is."

Widening her eyes, Tara begged, "Oh, please be careful, Michonne. That sounds like it could get real messy, real fast."

"Same thing happened between Glenn and I," Maggie confided. "Except it was the other way around. I told him I loved him, and it nearly scared him off. If it hadn't been the end of the world so that he had no place to go, I think he would have been out of there. But later, he told me that he loved me, too, and realized he had the whole time. Maybe you are in love with him, Michonne, but you don't know it yet."

"There's a reason I said that I thought you two would be great together," Tara agreed. "You have this awesome dynamic where you tell him what to do and he does it!" Maggie and Michonne dissolved into giggles at this, but Tara protested, "I've seen it happen so many times! Anyways, doesn't everybody want a relationship like that?" That only made them laugh harder.

Maggie tried to catch her breath. "Let's give her some alone time. Michonne, I know you've had so much going on the last several days. Promise me you'll take some quiet time to just think everything through before making any decisions, okay? I agree with Tara that you guys seem perfect together, but you have to do what's right for you."

Nodding, Michonne replied, "I promise."

Part 3

Once her friends had headed home, Michonne took over Denise's kitchen. The morning had been so eventful that everyone had missed breakfast, so she decided to prepare a brunch of scrambled eggs and pancakes. The doctor delivered heaping platefuls to Rick and Carl, while Michonne sat down to her own meal. It was the first time she'd had alone in days, and she welcomed the opportunity to think carefully about all that had transpired since the herd attack.

 _So much has happened_. She began a mental list. _We almost lost our home. All of us, Rick and Carl and I, nearly died. Carl's missing an eye and a big chunk of his memory... the part that contains me. I'm like a stranger to him now._ She felt her chest getting tight at the thought. _We almost lost him, and then we got him back, and now it's like he's lost to me again. And Rick... I know what he wants from me, but I'm not sure I'm ready to give it. It's not that I don't trust him. He's a good man, and over and over he's proven that I can depend on him. I just... never thought about him this way before. Sure, I've always thought he was good-looking, and we've flirted here and there. But a serious commitment? Being in love? I thought those things were lost to me, I'd never have them again. I've never even thought about who I want to have them with or what that would look like._

She sighed as she finished off her pancakes. _Is this just me being scared? Am I falling back into thinking that it's easier to just be alone?_ She shook her head decisively. _I don't think so. I want to make sure I get this right, that I'm not choosing Rick out of lust and loneliness. What if we look up in a couple of years and realize it was all just infatuation, and we're really not the right people for each other? It would be a lot harder and more painful to get out of it then._ Carrying her dishes to the sink, she started washing up the pans and plates. _It's difficult to think clearly and objectively when I'm with him. I'm like a schoolgirl with a crush: my head spins and it's hard to breathe. I think way too much about how I'd like to fuck him._ She rolled her eyes at herself. _All of this when I have no idea how I really feel about him or what I want out of this. Rick deserves better than an impetuous jump into the deep end. When or if we do this, I have to be sure. I'll wait until Carl gets to come home. I won't do it here. But once Carl is settled... I'm breaking it off._


	11. Chapter 11

Part 1

Their few belongings — some clothes, a couple of books, Michonne's shampoo, David's letter that had still been in the pocket of Rick's jeans — were packed and ready to go. They had spent their last night in the infirmary. Carl had asked Rick to sleep with him, and Michonne had quietly encouraged him to do so when he had come to their room to explain it to her. After an uneventful night, Denise had finally cleared them leave, and they were all eager to get home. Downstairs, Michonne and Carl were waiting for Rick. He had asked them to pause while he retrieved one last thing. He strode up the stairs quickly, but slowed as he approached Carl's room. Standing in the doorway for a moment, he stared at the tiny glint of gold gleaming at him from across the room. His wedding ring had lain in the corner for the last several days, no one taking notice of it, but Rick had not forgotten it. His eye had been drawn to it now and again, but he had procrastinated picking it up. Now, he walked over and crouched down, gently and reverently picking it up from the spot he had so angrily tossed it. As he placed it in the palm of his hand and rubbed his index finger around the circumference, he became lost in thought. Memories of his dead wife tumbled through his mind. The good ones, like the way they had danced together on their first date to their senior prom... how gorgeous she had been on their wedding day in that silky-smooth white gown, and he'd found out that night that her skin was just as soft as he lost his virginity to her... years later, the look of pure joy in her eyes when she held Carl moments after he was born. And the bad ones, the fights over the stupidest things and her accusations that he never talked to her about anything... his defensiveness over working such long hours, pointing out they had to make ends meet... pain stabbing through his heart at the slightest recall of what she had done with his best friend. He supposed it would always be like this when he remembered Lori: pleasure mixed with pain, beautiful but scarred.

"I love you, Lori," he whispered, looking down at the ring in the center of his palm. "I should have been better to you. Both of us should have been better. But I got our kids to this place, a place you would have liked, and I'm going to try hard to make it safe for them. And I know now who I want at my side while I do it. She's not like you, not at all, but she's beautiful in her own way, and she loves our kids like they're her own."

Downstairs, Carl's voice called, "Dad?"

He sighed and got to his feet. "Goodbye, Lori," he murmured as he slipped the ring into his pocket.

As the trio walked through the town, people looked up from their work to smile and greet them. Everyone they passed had something to say, either in condolence or congratulations, depending on how they viewed the situation. Rick supposed both responses were equally appropriate. The community had already gotten well on its way to recovering from the herd attack during the five days Rick and his little family had been cloistered in the infirmary. At the far end of town, the bonfire of the walkers burned low, little more than ash at this point, though a charnel smell still clogged the air. The wall had been made whole once again, thanks to the tireless efforts of Abraham's crew. Here and there, piles of rubble from damaged buildings had been formed. Michonne noted that she should spread the word instructing people to pick through them for anything useful so they could be properly cleared in due time. The graveyard had been expanded considerably. Another note when into her mental to-do list: find out exactly who had died and visit the people who had lost someone.

For the moment, however, her focus was on Carl. While he gave no sign that he remembered her, he had been significantly friendlier this morning than he had the day before.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" she asked as they made their way down the sidewalk.

"No," Carl admitted honestly, self-consciously shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't remember any of this."

"It's alright," she replied soothingly. "When your mind is ready, it'll come back to you. 'Till then, don't be embarrassed that you've forgotten things. It's hardly your fault."

"No," Rick said grimly as the passed the Anderson house. He gave the place a dark glance. "It's not your fault at all." Michonne gave Carl's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and he smiled gratefully at her.

At home, Carl got a warm reception. Judith was overjoyed to see her brother, and after poking a chubby finger at the bandage wrapped around the right side of his head, ignored it completely the rest of the day. Though Carl exclaimed, "She's so big!" when he saw her, he laughed and played with her delightedly. Carol and Daryl were there, too, with hugs (from Carol), and backslaps (from Daryl), and words of how happy they were to have him home, safe and sound. After their walk through the community, word spread fast that Carl had been released from the infirmary, and a revolving door of visitors consumed most of the rest of the day.

The first were Glenn and Maggie, along with Enid, who had moved in with them just the day before. "Hey, Carl", the teenage girl greeted him when he opened the front door.

"Hey! Great to see you!" Carl said brightly, and Michonne, who was standing just behind him, knew he had no idea who she was. "Quick," Carl hissed quietly to her as Enid walked across the living room to the couch. "What's her name?"

"Enid," Michonne informed him in a hushed tone, suppressing a smile.

"She's pretty," Carl whispered confidingly before joining his friend on the couch. Michonne grinned in earnest at that. It comforted her to see Carl making an effort to be friendly to her. Whatever his father must have told him the day before seemed to have helped.

Afterward, Abraham and Sasha came by. Rick was somewhat surprised to see them still in each other's orbit after the events at the quarry, but he noticed Rosita's absence and quickly put two and two together. Michonne made another mental note, this one to pay a visit to the jilted lover and see how she was coping.

Eugene stopped over in the early afternoon to inform them that he and Tara would be bringing them all dinner. "Y'all are the talk of the town," he said. "The boy who lived and all that." Carl broke into a large grin at this as the Harry Potter books were a favorite of his. "Anyways, Tara knew you'd be busier than a mosquito at a nudist colony, so she figured she'd best handle supper." True to his word, Eugene returned along with Tara and a giant pot full of spaghetti promptly at six o'clock. When they all sat down to dinner together, it warmed Rick's heart to see Carl laughing and joking with friends. As the evening progressed, he noticed a pattern in his son's conversation: he was constantly asking subtle questions that would prompt one person or another into recounting this or that story. None of it was so overt that anyone else picked up on it, except perhaps Michonne, but Rick knew that Carl was trying to piece together everything he could without drawing attention to the gaps in his memory.

Carl's vision problems were more difficult to hide. He could see perfectly well out of his remaining eye, but everything seemed slightly closer or farther away than he expected it to be. All day long, he had been bumping into doorways as he walked past, or nearly tripping over the edge of rugs. He had avoided the stairs altogether. At dinnertime, he knocked over a glass of water, and as Eugene helped clean up the mess, he advised, "Get a tennis ball. Lay on your back, throw it in the air, and practice catching it as it comes down. It'll recalibrate your sense of depth perception. Train your brain, in other words." Though he was slightly embarrassed, Carl nodded gratefully.

After dinner, Tara and Michonne washed dishes at the sink while the other started a round of Carl's favorite game, Settlers of Catan, in the living room (though Daryl grunted when the board game was brought out and went on the porch to smoke.) "Well?" Tara dived right in with a conspiratorial whisper. "Have you decided what to do about Rick?"

Michonne was loath to discuss the topic, but she had been expecting Tara to bring it up at some point. "Yeah... but I haven't had a chance to talk with him yet."

Tara's eyebrows knit together in concern. "Oh no! You're breaking up with him?"

"I wouldn't really call it breaking up," she said a bit defensively. "This isn't an established relationship in the first place. I'm just going to tell him that I want us to cool it off, at least for a while."

"Well," Tara cautioned. "Whatever you tell him, go easy on him. He's going to be pissed."

"Rick is a big boy. He can handle a little disappointment. And yes, I'll go easy on him. My goal isn't to break his heart, you know."

Her friend sighed. "It could happen anyways."

Part 2

As Rick saw the last of their company to the door, Michonne walked with Carl up the stairs to get ready for bed. "Easy," she advised. "Slow and steady does it."

"I know," Carl snapped in response, but then slipped slightly as his foot met the next stair sooner than he'd anticipated. He grabbed Michonne's hand, blushing furiously with embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled. She silently helped him climb the remaining steps. Once they were upstairs, Carl headed for the hallway bathroom to find alcohol, a clean cloth, and a fresh bandage. Dr. Cloyd had advised him to clean the area twice a day until it healed fully.

Michonne leaned against the doorframe as she watched Carl work. "You need a hand?"

"Nah," he replied dismissively. "The doctor showed me how to do it." He unwrapped his bandage and stared at his reflection for a long time. Sighing, he reached for the bottle of alcohol as he grumbled, "I look like a walker." He poured some of the alcohol on the cloth and dabbed at his wound.

"You don't," Michonne reassured him. "You look like a guy who fought and won."

"I guess so," he sighed. "But I don't feel much like a winner. I feel like a freak with a hole in his head."

Michonne walked over and joined him at the framed mirror hanging above the sink. She looked straight at his reflection without hesitating or showing any reaction. She wouldn't lie to him; the wound looked horrific. His eye socket was a cavity in his face, the flesh around the area swollen and stitched together. His expression hardly improved things as he glared darkly at his reflection. "It will get better," she promised him. "The swelling will go down. Your stitches will fall out once they've done their job."

"I'll still be a freak," he insisted angrily. "With a hole. In his _head_." With that, Carl pulled his arm back and punched the mirror as hard as he could. The glass shattered, and even as he pulled back his bleeding fist for a second punch, the frame fell from the wall and crashed against the faucet, scattering shards of glass everywhere. When he heard the noise, Rick ran upstairs as fast he could. He stopped in his tracks in the doorway of the bathroom at the sight before him: The mirror on the floor, glass sparkling all over the countertop, sink, and floor, and Michonne sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his son, helping him wash his damaged hand. Blood mingled with the water from the tap and swirled down the drain.

"I'll get a broom," Rick volunteered quietly.

A half-hour later, he sighed as he shut the door to Carl's bedroom. He had cleaned up the mess while Michonne had bandaged his son's hand. He had intended to talk with Carl about keeping his temper right then and there, but the teenager had complained of being exhausted and had asked to go to bed. Rick had remembered all that Carl had been through in the last week and decided to let it go, at least for tonight. Knowing how painful hand injuries could be, Rick had helped him get ready for bed and even tucked him in. He had expected Carl to protest that he was too old to be tucked into bed, but he had simply given him a small smile and a "thank you" before closing his eyes.

Michonne had slipped away when father and son went to the bedroom, and now Rick walked down the hallway, anxious to find her. The day had been full of so many visitors that he had barely had a moment alone with her, and that was after she had purposely kept her distance at the infirmary the day before. The events of the last week had all moved so quickly that a question mark seemed to hang in the air between them. Rick was feeling unsure of exactly where they stood with one another. He was eager to get her alone, but more than that, he wanted some reassurance that everything between them was okay, and she was ready to move forward with him.

Hesitating a moment, he knocked on the closed door to her bedroom. A few seconds later, she opened it, and he asked, "Can I come in?" She nodded and opened the door wider for him. She had changed into bed clothes, and Rick relished the sight of her in the oversized purple silk nightshirt and matching shorts, so tiny they barely peeked out from under the hem of the shirt. The skin of her legs looked smooth as butter, and he thought of how much he would like to run his hands up them from her ankles to her thighs. Something was wrong with her body language, though. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and her dreads were partially hiding her face as she looked toward him without meeting his eye.

"Thanks for helping with Carl," he began, closing the door behind him. "For understanding," he added because he knew that she did.

"You don't have to thank me, Rick," she replied quietly. "I want to be here for him. I'm just glad he's letting me."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to," he said as he closed the distance between them with a few steps. He tried to wrap an arm around her waist, but she kept her arms folded in front of her. Rick paused, his hand on her hip. They stood there a moment before he found the courage to ask in a low voice, "This what I think it is?"

Surprised, her eyes met his gaze, then quickly dropped down again. She murmured, "I'm sorry."

He drew in a sharp breath and took a step back. "Why?" he asked, his voice husky.

"So much has happened in the last week, Rick," she explained, leaning back against her dresser. "Too much. It's all swirling together in my head, and... I'm not ready for this."

Arguing would do little, he knew, as one cannot argue someone into a relationship. Still, he couldn't let her go so easily. "This feels right, Michonne. It feels like we belong together."

"I understand that it feels that way to you. But I'm not so sure."

He dropped his gaze to the floor, his heart twisting with her words. Then, without lifting his head, he directed his eyes back hers, and the intensity in his gaze made her grip the edge of the dresser behind her. He stalked toward her, and she remembered that he was a warrior, a predator. At the moment, she felt very much like his prey.

Stopping with his face only inches from hers, his voice rumbling low and passionate, he said, "You want me just as much as I want you. I know it. Stop pretending and tell me that you know you want this." He put his hands on her hips and pushed his torso against hers, pinning her against the dresser.

Desire coursed through her at his words, at the feel of his touch, and she had to resist the urge to meet his lips with hers. Instead, she stood, immoveable, and insisted quietly, "I can't."

Rick suddenly felt like finding a mirror to punch himself. "After everything? After all we've been through," he demanded, stepping back, "You push me away?"

"I'm not trying to—" she began to explain, but he interrupted her.

"We're a family, Michonne. You and me and Carl and Judy. We're supposed to be together," he insisted, his voice rising. "Can't you see that?"

"I'm not ready, Ri—", came the reply, but he interrupted again.

"You keep saying that, but _what the hell_ does that mean? I'm supposed to sit around and wait until you suddenly decide you want me? If you decide that at all? Why do you deny what's plain to see? You're _mine_ , Michonne!" He was almost yelling by this point. "You belong with me!"

Her eyes flared with anger, and she stood straight, staring him directly in the eye. "I am no Jessie that you can simply lay claim on me, Rick. I determine who I will be with and when."

His anger matched hers. He slammed his hand down on the dresser beside her. "Do you expect us to just be friends? We can't go back! I can't go back to pretending there's nothing between us."

As she fought to keep her temper, she said, "I'm just asking for some time." However, it was clear that Rick wasn't listening.

"Do you think we can just keep being roommates with no problem? Act like nothing happened?" he demanded.

"I'll be here for you, like always. For you and Carl. And maybe with a little more time—"

"So you'll just be my buddy?" he sneered. "And Carl's, too? Carl doesn't even _remember_ you!"

They both stopped in their tracks. He saw her eyes well up with tears before she turned away from him. "Michonne, I... I'm sorry," he attempted, but she flung her arm out to the side, pointing toward her bedroom door.

"Out, Rick," she commanded, her voice trembling. "Get out of my room. Now."


	12. Chapter 12

Part 1

Rick regretted the words as soon as they crossed his lips, but there was no way to snatch them back. Following Michonne's orders, he left her alone, closing her bedroom door quietly. He mentally kicked himself as he walked down the hallway to his own room. Wearily, he eased himself down on the edge of his bed and pulled off his boots. _Yeah, she got you good and pissed_ , he admitted to himself. _But that's no reason to throw the situation with Carl up in her face. It just made everything worse._ He checked on Judith in her crib on the other side of the room to make sure she was sleeping soundly, then pulled off his jeans and t-shirt and crawled into bed. Though his temper had been flaring up just a short while ago, the argument left him feeling exhausted. Michonne was right about one thing, at least: so much had happened to all of them in the last week. Suddenly, he felt the weight of all of it pressing down on him as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He reached his arm over to the empty side of the bed, running his hands over the cold sheets, wishing she were there to fill the space. _What if I just walked back over to her room? Would she change her mind? I know she's wrong about us._

Turning over to his side, he gave his pillow a few good thumps to get it into the right shape. _What is she even trying to say? She doesn't want this? Sure didn't feel that way when she was on my lap. Was she just wanting to get laid? Nah, that's... that's not anything like Michonne._ _And the look in her eyes... I know she wanted me._ _ **Me**_ _, not just the sex. She's pulling away for other reasons._

 _What did she say? God, I was so pissed, I was only half listening. Something about... not ready, need more time. That's not a "no, never." That means there's still hope for us, and she'll could come around. If I didn't just ruin it. Maybe if I just give her some space, let her work it out..._

 _I swear,_ he sighed inwardly, _trying to hold on to that woman's heart is like trying to tame a wild horse. Just when you think you have it, it breaks loose and runs away._ His grandfather had owned a horse farm in Kentucky, and some of his best memories as a child were long summer days spent horseback riding in the bluegrass. After the war, his grandfather had come home and bought the land for the farm straightway, hoping to live out a peaceful existence among his horses. Rick had heard the story many times. His grandfather had also told him the right way to attract the attention and affection of a horse that was particularly wild-spirited.

"There are two ways to tame a horse, Ricky," the elder Grimes had instructed his young grandson. "You can force her to do what you say by your brute strength. Eventually, she'll give up, and you'll have won. She won't love you, but you'll have won. The second way is to make _her_ want _you_. Sugar cubes in your open palm, gentle and reassuring words, soft brushes and pat-downs, and above all, _patience_. Sometimes it takes a while, but it works every time."

Sleep proved elusive. He lay awake through the watches of the night, tossing this way and that, all of the events of the last few days playing over in his head. He regretted losing his temper with Michonne, and he hoped she would forgive him. _I'll... talk with her about it... in the morning..._ he promised himself as a fitful sleep finally overtook him.

Bright light filtered in through the plantation shutters by the time Rick awoke. Once he had finally gotten to sleep, he'd slept longer than he meant to. Judith was awake, lying on her back and happily playing with her toes as she babbled to herself in her infantile nonsense language. Rick got dressed, then smiled down at her in her crib. She blew him a raspberry and squealed peals of laughter. "Okay, little one, come here," he murmured and picked her up, carrying her on one hip. He stopped by Carl's room first. The door was open and the bed was empty. _He must be already up and eating breakfast downstairs_ , Rick thought. When he reached Michonne's room, the door was still shut. He knocked softly, and waited. Again, he knocked, a little louder, but there was still no response. _I guess she's downstairs, too._

He found his son at the round table in the breakfast nook off the kitchen, digging into a bowl of oatmeal while reading a comic. "Mornin'," Rick greeted him. "Any more of that left?"

"Yeah, there's a big pot full on the stove. I figured I'd make enough for everybody, in case you and Judy and Michonne wanted some when you came down."

Rick paused in the middle of pulling a bowl out of a cabinet. "Michonne? She's not down here somewhere?"

Carl shrugged. "I haven't seen her all morning. I figured she was sleeping in, but maybe she's already gone out for the day."

"Yeah... maybe," Rick agreed, but his stomach suddenly felt disquieted. Her presence had been constant during the previous five days, and it was strange not to know where she was or what she was doing. _She's a grown woman_ , he lectured himself. _She doesn't have to tell you before she goes somewhere, especially now that Carl's healing up and back at home and all._ Still, his gut was telling him to go back up to her room and check on her. He placed Judith in her high chair and gave her a small bowl of applesauce and a spoon to keep her occupied. She happily directed dripping spoonfuls of the sweet fruit in the general direction of her mouth, though only about half actually made it in. Carl was busy making silly faces at her when Rick turned to head back upstairs.

At the door to Michonne's room, Rick tried the handle. It was unlocked. Slowly, he pushed the door open and called, "Michonne?" in case she had been in the bathroom earlier. But the room was absolutely still and quiet. She wasn't there. He stepped in and stood next to her dresser, looking around. The room smelled softly of her jasmine shampoo, and he inhaled the fragrance, finding it comforting. He stood for a moment longer, his hands on his hips, then turned to leave, when he suddenly froze. Last night, she had had several items on her dresser: a hairbrush, a few folded scarves, the paperback novel Denise had given her while they were in the infirmary. Those items were all gone now; the top of the dresser had been cleared away. His fingers trembling, he opened one of the drawers: empty. He opened a second: empty. He strode over to her bathroom and pulled open the shower curtain. Her razor, body wash, that shampoo he loved so much... it was all gone. He whirled around to see that the toothbrush holder on the counter was just as empty as her dresser drawers had been. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the counter: wide-eyes, panicked, chest heaving.

She was gone.

Part 2

 _ **Three hours earlier...**_

Michonne had not slept well, either. The first light of dawn brought her fully awake, and Rick's words from the previous night were weighing heavily on her mind. "Do you expect us to just be friends?... Do you think we can keep being roommates with no problem?... We can't go back!"

 _He's right,_ she admitted to herself, rising from bed and grabbing a duffel bag from her closet. _We can't be just friends anymore, or roommates. Too much has happened between us._ She had hoped he would be understanding and patient with her decision to put their relationship on hold, but the setback had proved to be too much for him. Fighting back tears, she began packing things into the bag: clothes, toiletries. She didn't need much, as life on the road had taught her how to travel light. _If he doesn't want to be my friend, or my roommate, I hope he'll at least let me come by often to see Carl and Judy._ She opened her door and stepped into the hallway, quietly shutting it behind her. Everyone else was still sleeping. _There's no need for dramatic good-byes_ , she supposed. _This isn't my home anymore; he as good as told me so last night. No sense in making it harder for everyone than it needs to be._

She forced her eyes to stay dry and her lips not to tremble as she shut and locked the front door behind herself. She refused to become a sobbing mess on the sidewalk. Instead, she kept her head held high and walked purposefully towards Deanna's home.

It took a full five minutes of knocking and ringing the doorbell before Spencer opened the front door. He was shirtless, bleary-eyed, and clearly still partially drunk from whatever he'd been indulging in the night before. "Goddamn it, woman," he swore at her from behind the half-open door. "It's a little fucking early, don't you think?"

"Only for people who stayed up way too late for all the wrong reasons," she chided.

"Fuck you. In case you haven't noticed, I've lost my entire fucking family in the last month. So give a guy a break, mmmkay?" he slurred.

"Look, I'm sorry to bother you," she said sincerely. "I just want to get some keys from your mom's office. I'll get out of your way after that."

"Yeah, sure, come on in," Spencer opened the door the rest of the way, and Michonne stepped inside. The place was a wreck. Discarded food containers and dirty dishes were lying on the tables and furniture, used clothes had been carelessly thrown down on the floor, and the entire place reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "Whatcha need keys for?" he asked her as he showed her to his mother's office, the one room that was still clean and orderly.

"Honestly? I don't feel like talking about it," Michonne replied as she began hunting through Deanna's desk. She quickly found what she was looking for: a large binder with plastic pockets for keys. Each pocket was neatly labeled in Deanna's precise handwriting with an address. She closed the binder and tucked it under her arm. "Thanks for the help, Spencer."

"Hey," he called to her as she walked back through the kitchen toward the living room. "You wanna stay and have a drink with me?"

She turned and asked, her eyebrows raised, "It's a little early for that, don't you think?"

"Haven't ya ever heard of daydrinkin'?" Spencer asked, then hiccupped loudly.

She looked around and spotted a large bottle of expensive-looking bourbon, still mostly full. Picking it up, she said, "How about you let me keep this?"

His eyes grew wide. "The whole damn bottle?"

"Pour us two shots, and give me the rest."

Spencer pulled two clean shot glasses out of the cabinet and filled them both. They lifted their glasses, and Michonne said, "To Deanna and Reg."

"Damn straight," Spencer agreed, and they both tossed the liquor back.

Part 3

1210 Nightingale Lane. Michonne stopped in front of the craftsman-style bungalow. Deanna had written "Empty" on the label under the address, and the house appeared to still be so. It also seemed to have withstood very little damage during the herd attack. It was one street over from Rick's house: far enough away to give them each some space, but close enough to have ready access to Carl and Judith. Michonne nodded decisively as she walked up onto the wide front porch. It would do.

As she was unlocking the front door, a familiar voice greeted her. "Hey, Michonne!" Rosita called from the sidewalk.

"Rosita!" Michonne exclaimed, and the two met in the middle of the front yard in a warm hug. "I'm glad to see you. I was going to come around today and see how you're doing."

"Yeah?" her friend asked. "I guess that means you heard the news about me and Abraham?"

"No, not exactly," Michonne admitted. "But I think I figured out well enough."

Rosita shrugged a little and looked self-consciously toward the ground. "Yeah, I guess it just wasn't meant to be, you know? I mean, we were good together and all, but... whatever."

"I'm sorry to hear you guys broke up," Michonne said consolingly.

"Well, it's more like _he_ broke up with _me_ , but thanks," Rosita replied. "Anyways, I've been crashing with Eugene and Tara. Good times. I was on the way to the community pantry to get some more flour for pancakes."

Michonne looked back over her shoulder to her new house before turning back to her friend. "Actually, I think I have an opening for a roommate. Interested?"

"Really?" Rosita asked in surprise. "Here? I thought you were with Rick, though?"

"We, uhm... we needed some space," Michonne explained, and Rosita nodded.

"Well, if you're sure..." Rosita said.

"Oh, yeah," Michonne assured her as they walked up the front steps together. "I'm sure about this."

"So, Michonne," Rosita asked as she unlocked the front door. "Why are you carrying around that big bottle of bourbon?"

Michonne glanced down at the heavy bottle tucked under one arm. She shrugged casually and replied, "Housewarming present."


	13. Chapter 13

Part 1

Rick sat on the front steps of his home, listening to the sound of conversation and laughter floating out of the open windows of the house next door. Maggie had invited everyone in the community over for the evening, saying that it was time they all had some relaxation and fun after their hard work rebuilding the community. Carl had been excited to go, and Rick suspected that was partly due to the fact that Enid was sure to be there. Rick had made up an excuse to stay home, claiming he was coming down with a bad cold, and had told his son to go on without him. Carol had given him the side-eye, but she took Judith along with her, advising him to get some rest while the house was empty and quiet. The truth, however, was that he was in no mood for a party. Michonne had moved out three days ago, and she had effectively dodged him the first day. He had tracked her to Spencer's house, but other than relating the news that she had stopped by to pick up the ASZ's master set of keys, the young man hadn't been able to tell him anything. He had walked all around the community, speaking with everyone he could, but he seemed to have always just missed her. Several people recounted to him how she had visited with them, offering her condolences on their losses during the herd attack, but no one had any further information on her whereabouts. Rick had been careful to ask casually and not press too hard; he wasn't sure he wanted news of her moving out to get around town just yet. Apparently, she wasn't telling people either, as no one mentioned her new location. Yesterday, however, he had finally found her as he walked the lanes and avenues of the ASZ, and it turned out she had only been one street over the whole time, too. She had apparently taken up residence in one of the formerly empty homes, and it seemed that Rosita had moved in with her. They had been sitting on their front porch, chatting in rocking chairs, when he had walked up and stopped on the sidewalk in front of their house. Michonne had ceased her rocking and stood, a mix of emotions on her face, but before she decided what to do, Rick had simply nodded to her and kept walking. He knew where she was now, and that was enough for the time being. If she wanted her space, he would give it to her, he had decided. He knew she would be around before long to see Carl and Judith; he had no doubt that she had only broken up with him, not with the kids.

Sure enough, she had turned up just that morning. He had risen early, but Michonne and Carl had risen even earlier. By the time he had come downstairs, they were already in the backyard, hard at work at target practice with Carl's silenced pistol. He had watched them for a while from the kitchen window, not wanting to go outside and disturb them. Carl had missed every single target except the last one, and Michonne had praised him enthusiastically after he had made the shot. The two had exchanged a hug, but she had walked around the side of the house rather than coming in after the lesson was finished.

Rick was glad that Carl and Michonne were spending some time together. He was hardly feeling at peace with the situation, however. The truth was that he was downright depressed. _I miss her_ , he admitted to himself. _And I'm lonely as all hell_. As the music and noise of the party reached his ears, he sighed deeply and took a long drink from the beer bottle in his hand. Swallowing it down to the last drop, he set the empty bottle down next to the two others he had already consumed. The alcohol had helped lighten his dark mood slightly.

Rosita materialized out of the evening darkness and approached the porch with a soft, "Hey, Rick."

Rick blinked at her through the haze of his beer buzz, then nodded in greeting. "Why aren't you at the party?"

Rosita sighed and sat down on the porch step next to him. "I was. Spencer was there, and we were talking, and it was fun for a while. But Abraham and Sasha showed up, and suddenly, it wasn't fun anymore. What's the point of being at a party if you can't enjoy it with the one you want to be with, you know?"

"Yeah," Rick said, an edge to his voice. "I do know."

Rosita stretched out her long, shorts-clad legs in front of her and leaned back on her elbows on the step behind her. "I'm sorry to hear you and Michonne broke up."

He shot her a sideward glance, then looked quickly away when he realized her thin t-shirt was doing nothing to hide the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. "She told you about that?"

"No," Rosita admitted. "The woman's a closed book on the subject. But I can guess. I mean, she's not here, right?"

Rick shrugged. "I don't know if I'd call it a break-up."

He reached down and picked up the fourth and last bottle he had brought out on the porch with him. As he twisted off the cap, she asked, "Got any more of those?"

"Yeah," he nodded, getting to his feet. "Come on inside, and I'll grab you one."

He led her through the house to the kitchen and turned to the refrigerator to get her a beer. When he turned back around, he saw that she was in the middle of pulling her t-shirt over her head. He nearly dropped the bottle. A second later, she was fully topless. She stood silent, waiting.

He shook his head. "Rosita —," he began.

"He dumped me, and she dumped you. I think we could both use a little consoling." She unbuttoned her shorts, letting them slide to the floor, and walked over to him, wearing only a pair of tiny thong panties. Rick sighed shakily as she pressed her body against his chest. _Damn, it's been so long..._ he thought. He had to admit that she was gorgeous, with her small but perky breasts and flawless skin. And he found the vulnerable way she was freely offering herself to him appealing. _It would be so easy._

But when his eyes fluttered closed, his mind was filled with the vision of smooth, dark chocolate skin and the memory of Michonne's pillow-soft lips on his. "She's the only one I want to be with," he confessed. "I'm sorry, Rosita."

She faltered for a second, but her seductive smile quickly returned. "I'm not saying we should get married, Rick. I'm saying that you should let me fuck you tonight." She reached up and stroked his beard, but he took hold of her hand, stopping her gently yet firmly.

"No," he said decisively.

A wounded expression on her face, she retreated several steps from him. "Why the hell not?" she demanded as she grabbed her clothes off the floor and began pulling them on.

He shrugged. The explanation was simple. "I'm in love with her."

Part 2

Michonne did not feel much like attending a party. She had cried herself to sleep the last two nights, mourning for the loss of her best friend. _I tried to slow it down, protect our friendship from lust and impetuousness, but I only managed to ruin it all_ , she had thought bitterly as she had lain weeping in her bed. Still, she supposed it was her duty to attend the party. Not only was Maggie her friend, but she felt obligated to show up for the people of Alexandria. If they were willing to put aside their troubles and spend some time enjoying the life they had worked so hard to build, she should be at their side, supporting and encouraging them. Staying home didn't sound appealing, anyways. Her new house was hardly a place of comfort. Even with Rosita, the place still felt too empty and still. In truth, her new roommate did little to fill the void. Rosita was quiet, even withdrawn, a contrast to her usual self. She had taken the breakup with Abraham hard, that much was plain to Michonne. However, when she asked her friend if she wanted to talk about it, she would simply sigh and shake her head, or respond bitterly that Michonne "wouldn't understand." The living arrangement was quickly becoming more uncomfortable than Michonne had anticipated. Therefore, she had hoped the party would prove to be a distraction from her problems, but it only made them worse. She had been apprehensive about seeing Rick, wondering what she should say and how they would act with one another, but when he didn't show up, she became even more worried. Was he intentionally avoiding her? If not, was there something else wrong? It couldn't be Carl; he was present at the party and seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when Enid was around. What if Rick needed her? She rolled her eyes at herself. _We just broke it off,_ she chided herself, _so why is he all you can think about? Get a grip, girl._

She stayed at the party as long as she thought appropriate, being sure to greet as many people as she could and try her hardest to be a good listener as they made conversation. It was difficult, and she had to constantly fight off distraction. At one point in the evening, she saw her roommate slip out Maggie's front door, and she seriously considered making her own exit. Perhaps she would stop by Rick's place, just to check on him. _No_ , she sighed inwardly. _He made it clear where we stand with each other. It's better if I just keep my distance._ She stayed at the party and listened to everyone's concerns and hopes for the future, forcing her brain to produce responses that were both reassuring and honest, until she simply couldn't stand it much longer. She found her hostess, thanked her for a lovely evening, and walked out into the dark and quiet evening. Out in the night air, the endless sky above her, she felt her burdens lifted somewhat from her shoulders. Back at the party, all she could think was that Rick should be at her side; they should be doing this together. But that wasn't going to be happening now. She walked home in silence.

Rosita was there, her bedroom door open, and she was stuffing clothes into a backpack. Michonne watched her from the doorway for a moment before quietly asking, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Packing," Rosita responded tersely.

Michonne nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. But why?"

"Because pretty soon, you won't want me around here."

"Hey, hey, don't say that," Michonne responded soothingly. She walked over and took a seat on the other woman's bed. "I know you're going through a hard time, but you're my friend. I'm not going to just turn my back on you."

Rosita shook her head. "That's not what I mean."

"Then explain it to me."

"I guess you'll hear it from him, anyways," Rosita sighed. "So I might as well be the one to tell you. I tried to fuck Rick tonight."

For a moment, Michonne could only blink at her in surprise. "What — what did you say?" she stuttered.

Rosita shrugged. "I figured if you didn't want him, he was fair game, you know?"

A mix of emotions flitted across Michonne's face: anger and outrage, then uncertainty, quickly followed by something very close to despair. "You're right," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "If he's not with me, there's no reason he shouldn't be with you."

The other woman finished stuffing her bag full and stood to her feet. "Yeah, there is, apparently. We didn't sleep together, Michonne. He wouldn't even touch me." She stared at her, uncomprehending. "He said he wanted you. _Only_ you. I've always been able to get any guy I want, but he turned me down flat. All because he's in love with you. Told me so himself." She slung her pack onto her back and stepped towards the doorway. "I don't know what you're doing or why, but I do know that you're damned lucky to have a man like that so crazy about you." She walked into the living room, heading towards the front door.

"Rosita!" Michonne called after her. She quickly got to her feet and chased after her into the next room. "Listen, don't leave. I'm not mad." Rosita gave her a dubious look, and she insisted, "I'm not, I promise. I know you weren't trying to hurt me. You just don't want to be alone. And you're right: if Rick and I aren't together, I don't have a right to be jealous if he's with someone else. But you don't need anyone, Rosita. You're beautiful and smart and strong. You don't need a man — whether it's Abraham or someone else — to be whole." She reached out to her friend and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Stay here, okay? I don't know what's going to happen with me and Rick, but I don't want you to go back to crashing on Eugene's couch. Please stay?"

"Yeah," Rosita agreed, letting her pack slip to the floor. "Okay. And... thanks."

Part 3

Michonne stood outside Rick's house, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill of the night air. She left soon after her talk with Rosita, hoping to see him immediately. If he turned down Rosita, even said he loved her, maybe there was still hope for them. But the hour was already late, and all of the windows of the house were dark. She didn't want to risk waking everyone up, so she decided to talk with him first thing in the morning. Reluctantly, she turned and headed back to her own house.

Only a few minutes later, a dark silhouette hurriedly mounted the front steps and swung open the screen door. Daryl quickly unlocked the front door with his key, then rushed inside and dashed up the steps. He knocked on Rick's bedroom door, then let himself in when there was no answer. Rick was sleeping soundly, the sheets tangled around his bare waist. His knocking had awakened Judith, however, and she whined grumpily at him from her crib.

Daryl shook his friend's shoulder as gently as he could, trying not to startle him. Rick sat upright quickly, his eyes wide, and gripped Daryl's arm hard before he realized who was standing by his bed. "What — what is it?" Rick demanded, trying to clear the sleep from his brain.

"Someone was watching us," Daryl answered quietly. "I saw him when I was keeping watch on the wall by the front gate. Peerin' at our walls from his damn binoculars. Fella took off back through the woods when he realized I'd spotted him."

Rick swung himself out of bed. "Show me," he said grimly.


	14. Chapter 14

As Michonne stepped out of the shower, the doorbell rang. She wrapped a towel around her damp body and hurried to answer it, knowing that Rosita (who was both a late riser and a heavy sleeper) would never hear the door. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies when she wondered whether it could be Rick. The previous evening's events were fresh in her mind, and she had been planning to walk over to his house to speak with him as soon as she was showered and ready. However, it was the younger Grimes standing at her door, silhouetted against the carnation pink light of early dawn. She smiled in greeting at him as she pulled open the door. "Good morning, Carl."

The young man looked slightly embarrassed at the sight of her in a towel. He dropped his gaze to the wooden planks of the porch's floor and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, I guess maybe I'm too early?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. You're welcome here any time. Come on in and have a seat while I get dressed. Have you had breakfast?" When he answered negatively, she said, "I don't have a lot of choices, but how about some pop-tarts?"

"Seriously?" his face broke into a wide grin. "Dad never lets me eat those."

"Well, they're hardly the breakfast of champions, but knock yourself out," she chuckled. "And there's boxed almond milk in the fridge. Maybe that would it balance out." He started eagerly tearing open a package of wild cherry pop-tarts as she walked back to her room. Once she was dressed, she rejoined him in the kitchen. "So, did you just come by to visit, or was something on your mind?"

Carl swallowed the last mouthful of his sugary breakfast. "I was hoping we could get in some more target practice this morning, like we did yesterday?"

She asked, smiling, "You want this to be a regular thing?"

"I could obviously use it," he admitted ruefully.

She put her hand on his shoulder consolingly. "Sure, let's do it. I was planning to come over anyways."

"Yeah?" he asked. "To see me or my dad?"

She felt her face redden as she admitted, "Your dad."

"Good. He's been terrible the last few days since you moved out. He's always either staring off into space or snapping at people over nothing. So, uhm... can I ask why you moved out? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he caveated quickly. "It's just that when I asked Dad, he said he didn't want to discuss it."

"We'll talk about it as we walk," she promised, nodding her head towards the front door.

As they strode through the grass, still wet with morning dew, she said, "Your dad is very special to me. He's my best friend. And sometimes... sometimes friends become more than friends, you know?"

Carl nodded. "I kind of figured you guys were together or something. After I woke up, I asked Dad if you were his girlfriend."

Surprised, she raised her eyebrows at him. "Yeah? What did he say?"

"He said he didn't know," Carl shrugged. "But he also said he wanted you to be."

They turned onto the avenue that connected her street with Rick and Carl's. "Yeah," Michonne said, biting her bottom lip. "Thing was, I was so used to us being friends that I didn't see it as quickly as he did."

"See what?"

She hesitated, thinking of the right words. "That we should be more." They walked on in silence for a few moments before she added, "I was afraid that if things went wrong, maybe we wouldn't be friends anymore. I felt like it was safer to stay where we were at."

"That doesn't explain why you moved," Carl pointed out as they turned onto his street.

"Well... we argued," she admitted. "And I thought your dad wanted me to go. But I think now that I might have misunderstood him."

"I know that couldn't have been what he wanted. I told you what he's been like. So what made you realize he didn't really want you to move out?"

She cringed a little as she remembered the situation with Rosita. She wasn't about to share information on _that_ with Carl. "Honestly? I'd rather not share that."

"That's okay," he replied, nodding his head. "I understand."

She smiled, admiring the person he was growing to be. Reaching over to giving him a side hug as they approached his house, she said, "Thanks for respecting that."

Carl opened the side gate and led them around to the backyard. "So what's going to happen now? Are you and my dad going to get together? Are you going to move back in?"

As she walked to the back fence and began setting up the targets, she admitted, "I'm not sure. After our lesson, I'll talk with your dad, and we'll work it out. Do you want me to come back and live with you guys?"

He pulled his silenced pistol from its holster and fiddled with the chamber for a moment before confessing, "I'm sorry I don't remember you, Michonne. Dad says we were good friends and went through a lot together. Hopefully, that stuff will start coming back to me sometime soon. But you're really cool and nice, and it made my dad happy when you were around. So... yeah, I want you to come back. Definitely."

She felt tears spring up at his words. Swallowing hard to keep them back, she replied, "Thanks, Carl. That means a lot to me."

Michonne didn't have to wait until the end of the lesson to see Rick. Only a few minutes later, he emerged from the back door off the kitchen and strode through the yard towards her. "I need to speak with you," he said in a low voice.

After not talking with him for over three days, she found the intensity of his gaze a little overwhelming. Dropping her eyes, she responded, "Sure. Of course." She turned to Carl. "We'll finish the lesson soon, okay?" He nodded understandingly.

Rick led her into the kitchen. "Look, I know things are rough between us right now," he began. "But we have some business to discuss." When she realized he wasn't trying to start a conversation about them, she straightened her posture and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What's going on?" she asked, leveling her gaze to meet his.

"Daryl spotted a spy outside the fence last night. Guy had binoculars and seemed to be checking out our defenses. Could be nothing; a random passerby making his way through the woods who got understandably curious. But he could be part of a group... a group that's going to come back and try to get in here."

She shook her head. "He got away, huh?"

"He did," Rick admitted bitterly. "Daryl couldn't track him in the dead of night, but he wants to set out in a few minutes now that the sun is up. Maybe he can pick up his trail. Thing is, we don't know how many this guy's got with him. It might be trouble." He paused a moment, then softened his tone. "I could use your help out there."

She didn't hesitate. "Yes, of course I'll go."

He gave her a small smile. "Good. That's a relief after... I just didn't know if you'd want to."

At that moment, Daryl strode into the kitchen, his crossbow slung across his back. He nodded to her in greeting. "Michonne. Good to see you."

"You too, Daryl," she returned warmly.

"So we're good?" he asked Rick. "Y'all about ready to head out?"

"Yeah," Rick affirmed. "Just give us a minute, and we'll go." Daryl nodded, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the island, and headed towards the living room. Rick sighed and turned back to her. "Run back to your house and get your sword, whatever else you need. We could be gone overnight. Meet us back here as soon as you're ready."

As he turned to walk away, she said softly, "Rosita told me what happened last night, Rick." He froze, then turned silently to face her. "I know we don't have time right now," she continued. "But when we can, I think we should talk. About us."

He nodded, his expression even. "Yeah. We should." As he walked away, Michonne turned toward the back door. Her lesson with Carl was going to have to wait.


	15. Chapter 15

"I may be missing an eye," Carl groused, "but I'm not an idiot. I don't need a damn babysitter."

"You're not an idiot, and I never said you were," Rick argued. "But what do you expect me to do? Go off and leave you and Judy and not task someone with watching out for you? That's not going to happen, Carl." As Michonne opened the front door, her sword slung across her back, she overheard the beginnings of an argument between father and son as they stood in the kitchen.

"Then take me with you. Let me help."

"Out of the question," Rick replied firmly.

Carl said sarcastically, "Right. Gotta leave the kids at home while the grown-ups take care of business."

She came around the corner to see Rick pinching the bridge of his nose irritably. "It's not that simple, Carl. You're not in any condition to —" He looked up and saw that she had entered the room. He gestured towards her. "Michonne, back me up here."

Carl shot her a hopeful glance, but she slowly shook her head. "You're still recovering from a very serious injury. Your body needs time to just take it easy and recuperate. Besides," she needled him with a grin, "you can't shoot worth shit."

The tension in the room melted away. Carl replied with a smartass grin, "Yeah, yeah, rub it in why don't cha?"

She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You'll heal up. We'll continue those lessons. Maybe we'll even work with my katana. You'll be in fine form in no time. But you're going to have to sit this one out, okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I guess... I guess that makes sense. Listen, just stay safe, okay?" he asked, swiveling his head to look at both her and his dad.

"We always do," Rick replied confidently as his son walked toward the living room. "Thanks for the help," he addressed Michonne once they were alone. "He listens to you."

She jerked her head in the direction from which Carl had just exited. "What started all that?"

"I asked Carol to keep watch over him and Judith while we're gone. Carl overheard and interpreted that as me finding him a babysitter."

She sighed and leaned back against the countertop. "Could be typical teenager stuff. He doesn't want to be treated like a child, he's having difficulty controlling his emotions, and so on."

"I remember what I was like at that age," Rick agreed.

"Still...," Michonne hedged, biting her bottom lip. "Carl rarely felt the need to assert himself like this before."

Rick drew his eyebrows together, and his expression darkened. "That's what I've been thinking, too. What if memory loss wasn't the only side effect of his injury? He's being doing things that aren't like him at all. Like breaking that mirror the night — the night you left..." His voice trailed off.

"Rick, about that night... I'm sorry I hurt you," she began in a low voice. "It's ironic because the whole reason I wanted to stop what was happening between us was to avoid hurting you, but I still did it anyway."

He was silent for a moment before admitting, "Later, when I gave it more thought, I figured that must be the reason. You were afraid things would go south between us, and we'd be left with nothing?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "I didn't want us to dive into this for the wrong reasons. You're too important to me to lose you."

"Then why did you leave?" he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. "I know I was a dick about it, and I didn't listen to you. I am so sorry for that, Michonne. But you should have stayed. We should have worked it out."

Tears formed in her eyes as she saw how she had hurt him. "I feel so stupid about it now," she admitted. "But I thought you wanted me to leave."

" _Wanted?_ " his eyes widened with shock. "It's the last thing I wanted."

"I know that now. But at the time... you said we couldn't be just friends or roommates anymore."

He dropped his eyes to the floor and gulped in a breath. "I did say that. I did. But I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean we shouldn't be friends or roommates. I meant — I meant that I couldn't lose you. I need you. I know I've been throwing too much at you, too fast, but it's the truth."

"It was too much," she confessed. "Before she passed, Deanna asked me what I want. When I tried to tell her I want Alexandria to be a success, she acted like that wasn't enough. She asked me what I want _for me_. And I couldn't even answer her. I certainly didn't say 'to fall in love again.' That didn't even come to mind."

"And what about now? How would you answer the question now?" he asked quietly. He waited patiently, but inside, he was trembling to hear her answer to the question.

Her skin flushed under the intensity of his gaze. "I want us to take _this_ ," she emphasized, reaching for his hand and entwining his fingers with hers, "slow, figure it out together."

"Take it slow..." Rick repeated, relief spreading through his chest, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I can do that." Like a sugar cube in the palm of his hand, holding it out for his wild filly. "But I gotta ask," he continued, "because I don't know."

"Yeah?"

"Does 'taking it slow' include being able to kiss you?" He drew closer to her until they were only inches away from each other.

"Yes, it does," she whispered. He gently cupped the side of her face with one hand as his mouth drew near to hers. Their lips met, brushing together for a moment before the kiss deepened, their bodies pressing together. He wrapped his arms around her waist while she clung to his back, both of them lost in the pleasure of the moment. The tip of her tongue teased his lips, and he parted them, meeting her tongue with his. He felt a strong urge to lift her onto the countertop so he could feel her legs wrapping around him, but he refrained. _Take it slow_ , he reminded himself. Besides, Carl could walk back downstairs any minute.

They had just broken the kiss and pulled back slightly, smiling at each other, when Maggie barged through the back door and into the kitchen. "Rick!" she exclaimed urgently. "Glenn caught wind of this plan to go outside the walls and hunt somebody down. He's on his way over here now —" she was interrupted by the front door bell ringing. She begged, " _Tell him no_. I almost lost him, and I'm not about to have it happen all over again a week and a half later."

Rick nodded understandingly as he walked towards the living room. "I'll handle it," he promised, and Maggie slipped back out the way that she came. He swung the front door open to see that Glenn was, indeed, standing on the other side. Morgan and Daryl were waiting on the porch steps behind him. "Glenn. What's on your mind?" he greeted him, gesturing for him to come inside.

"Eugene told me that Daryl spotted something last night while they were patrolling the fence. Somebody out there getting a little too curious. I figured you guys would be heading out to hunt him down, if you can."

"Yeah, we are," Rick confirmed. "Just taking care of a few things before we go."

"I want to come with you," Glenn said, pointing out the obvious.

Rick replied, "Well, I know you do. Thing is, I think you've earned some down time, with everything that happened in taking care of the herd."

Shaking his head, Glenn insisted, "If there's a threat to this place, to our home, I'm going to help you eliminate it." He lowered his voice and gestured slightly with his hand towards Morgan. "You're taking _him_ and not me?"

Rick shifted his weight to one leg and squinted at Glenn. "First off, we don't know it's a threat. Could be nothing. But we're gonna see." He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "He doesn't have a baby on the way. You do. Maggie just got you back. You barely made it back last time, man. You need to think about her right now, okay?"

Glenn hung his head and was silent for a moment before agreeing, "Yeah. I see what you're saying."

"Just sit this one out. If the situation ramps up, you know I'll come looking for you," Rick assured him. When Glenn nodded and walked back down the front porch's steps, Daryl zipped closed the backpack he was organizing. He slung it onto his back and sauntered over to Rick. He spoke in a low voice that Morgan, still sitting on the steps, wouldn't be able to hear.

"Y'all 'bout done? I wanted to give you a few minutes to straighten things out, but we need to get on the road. We're burnin' daylight."

Rick nodded. "Ready when you are."

A few minutes later, the squeaky gate crashed closed behind the four warriors. Each of them kept a hand lingering near his or her weapon. As they strode towards the area from which the spy had been spotted, Daryl growled, "Let's hunt."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thanks so much for all of the positive reviews! They are very encouraging and only make me want to write more. I hope to have at least one more update for Wild Heart this week, and some one-shots next week, so be on the lookout!

Also, there's a great new forum for discussing Richonne and TWD. It's a place that's very friendly to Richonners, so I highly recommend it: tellittothedead dot com. Hope to see you there!

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Michonne's sword sliced cleanly through the walker's skull, dividing it in two. The movement was casual, almost without thought. The walker had been alone and warranted little attention or effort. So it had been for her, Rick, and Morgan all morning: following behind Daryl as he picked their way through the dense forest, pursuing the trail the spy had left, and putting down stray walkers here and there as they encountered them. Thankfully, none of them appeared in force; they turned up occasionally, in groups of three or four at the most, easily dealt with by the skilled warriors. Besides these brief interruptions, all was quiet around them. The serenity of the sun-dappled forest paths was a welcome change from Alexandria, baptized as it had been in blood and death in recent days. Rick was reminded of the last time he went camping with Lori and Carl before the old world ended, one of the good memories he had of all three of them together. It had been in a wood much like this one, the same summer warmth in the air, emerald green leaves glinting in the morning's golden sunshine. He turned to watch as Michonne dispatched the walker, leaving it to find its final resting place among the thick ferns and vines carpeting the forest floor. Her body moved with the grace of a dancer. As she wiped her sword clean and sheathed it, she turned to him, and their eyes met. The sunlight played across the smooth skin of her neck and face, and the kiss they had shared that morning immediately came to Rick's mind. His gaze zeroed in on her plush lips, and he found himself wondering when they would get to repeat the experience.

Morgan's voice broke his reverie. "You still have his trail, Daryl?"

The hunter nodded, his shaggy hair falling somewhat into his eyes. "Yeah, he went this way, alright."

"How can you tell?" Michonne asked. "We're miles away from home by now."

Daryl replied, "See that boot print? There's a wide gap between the fourth and fifth rows of tread. Easy to track, especially with the ground all muddy like this. Good thing it's been raining lately, but even better that it hasn't rained today. It would have washed the trail away." He stopped suddenly and put a finger to his lips. "Shh... you hear that?"

Rick pursed his lips. "Walkers," he confirmed grimly.

The foursome walked on, keeping their steps as silent as possible, until they came to the top of a rise in the path. There, a mass of a couple of dozen of the undead were tearing voraciously into the body of a buck they had very recently felled. The wretched animal was still struggling in vain as the walkers tore out its intestines through the gaping hole they had ripped into its side. It kicked weakly. The ones on the periphery noticed the newcomers and lumbered towards them but were immediately cut down. The others were so engrossed in their meal that they didn't bother to attack. They were still intently shoveling the viscera into their snapping jaws up to the moment their heads were crushed or sliced open by the four companions. Only a few minutes later, the walkers were all destroyed, but still Daryl swore loudly, kicking the body of the one closest to him.

"What is it?" Rick asked.

"Sons of bitches screwed up the trail. They kicked up the mud, got blood all over the place..." Daryl grumbled irritably as he crouched down here and there, his eyes sweeping the ground in vain. Finally, he stood up and shook his head in resignation. "It's gone. He coulda went in any direction."

"Maybe the walkers got him?" Morgan asked, leaning on the staff he had been using as a walking stick all day.

Rick shot the idea down. "There weren't any dead bodies on the ground when we got here. And none of these walkers look very fresh. They didn't just turn this morning. No, our guy's still out there."

"We can't turn back now," Michonne sighed. "We've come too far to just let it go."

"We can't wander all over creation, either," Morgan pointed out.

"He's been travelin' in more or less a straight line. He's been making a beeline for some place," Daryl noted. "I say we keep going straight on, too."

Rick nodded. "He could be going back to his group to gather reinforcements."

"Daryl, if we keep heading north like he was doing, is it possible that we could pick up his trail again?" Michonne asked.

"Could be," he shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"Alright," Rick decided. "We'll keep at it, but we turn back in time to make it home before dark if we can't find the trail. I'm not going to have us spending a cold, dark night in a wood full of walkers for a hunch."

A half hour later, the forest path split into two ways: northwest and northeast. In between and on either side, the undergrowth grew so thick that it prohibited passage. Daryl spotted no obvious boot prints on either path; the ground was marked with the tracks of animals and walkers, making it impossible to detect a clear print. The four hunters decided to divide into two groups: Rick and Michonne took the northwest trail while Daryl and Morgan headed northeast. They all agreed to meet back at that spot in an hour if they had found nothing conclusive.

"You know, it's weird," Rick told Michonne in a quiet voice was they walked side-by-side down the path. "After all that's happened, and here we are tracking down a threat... but I keep finding myself thinking about this camping trip we took Carl on... been about three summers ago now. Being out in the woods like this reminds me of it. We had a good time."

Michonne pulled a face. "I always hated camping."

Rick laughed softly. "Really? You took to it well enough all those nights on the way to Alexandria."

She shrugged. "Gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. But me? I always preferred my soft mattress and down comforter, thank you very much."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for an inside girl. You're really surprising me here."

Lifting her eyebrows, she informed him, "I would much rather have been in an art gallery than tromping around a forest."

"An _art gallery_?" Rick asked.

"Oh, yes," Michonne confirmed. "I was the professor of art history at Georgia State University, Rick."

"Damn," Rick swore, shaking his head. "I had no idea."

She playfully bumped his shoulder. "So get to know me, will you?"

He grinned in at her and said, "Yeah, I will." His expression turned serious. "I want to know all about you, Michonne."

"There's not much to tell," she shrugged. "I was born and raised in New Orleans. You already know that." Rick nodded. "I grew up, moved away, taught at the University of Chicago for a few years. That's where I met Mike. After Hurricane Katrina, though, my parents had to move. My sister, Adelaide, was disabled, and she still lived with them. She wasn't able to take care of herself. However, she couldn't get the medical care she needed in New Orleans after the city was destroyed, so they moved to Atlanta. A few years later, her health started to decline, and my mom asked me to move closer to be with Adelaide and help take care of her. She was my best friend growing up, so what could I do? Of course, I said yes."

"What was wrong with your sister?" Rick asked solemnly.

"Paraplegic. Car accident when she was a teenager. Her body never really recovered from it. She died about a year after I moved down."

"I'm sorry for your loss," he offered quietly.

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you, but it's okay. She was in pain all the time. Really, it was a mercy when she passed. And she never had to experience the world like it is now."

"Mike came with you when you moved?"

She nodded. "I told him he didn't have to. We didn't have Andre yet back then, and I didn't want to expect too much. I was willing to let him go. But he said he loved me and wanted to stay with me."

Rick reached for her hand and stroked her thumb with his. "Smart man."

She chuckled softly. "Yeah... well, it was just easier to stay in Atlanta at that point. I had gotten a new job. Mike and Terry had gone into business together, opened an art gallery. It was pretty successful. We had bought a condo downtown together. And with would-be grandparents so close, we decided it was a good time to try for a baby. It only took a month. Mike teased me that we probably could have had sixteen kids if we hadn't been so meticulous with the birth control. He called me 'Fertile Myrtle', the bastard," she laughed. Rick laughed, too. She grinned at him and said, "Thanks."

"For what?" he inquired, confused.

"It just feels nice to talk about this stuff with you." She squeezed his hand, but suddenly let go and pointed. "Look," she whispered.

On the left of the path ahead, a log cabin suddenly came into view. The windows were blank, no smoke billowed from the chimney, and all was quiet and still. The place appeared to be utterly deserted. Just the same, they snuck towards the house and carefully peered into each window, checking for any inhabitants or walkers. The front door was locked, but Rick kicked it in. They did a quick sweep of the rooms, but the dust layered an inch thick everywhere indicated that the place had been empty for a very long time.

"He couldn't have come this way," Rick stated firmly. "Look, there's bottled water, canned food, oil for lamps... no way somebody would have found this and just left it all here."

"Yeah, this place must have belonged to some kind of survivalist," Michonne agreed. "It's off the grid. No paved roads going in or out. I spotted a pump in the backyard. It likely has its own well. Maybe someone from the city built it way out here in case of a state of emergency. A refuge they could flee to."

"Looks like they never made it here," he noted grimly.

"More's the better for us," she replied. "There's a lot of provisions here. We should carry a little of it back, and send a team later for more before someone else discovers it."

"We have to find this guy first," Rick insisted. "I'm not going to decrease the number of people protecting our home while there's a threat against it."

She nodded in agreement. "Security comes first. Still, as soon as we can, we should get back here. This is a veritable treasure trove of supplies for home."

He smiled his appreciation at her. Reaching for her, he stroked her cheek lightly. "You're always looking out for our people, aren't you?" She leaned into his touch, the two of them gazing tenderly at one another for a long moment. Eventually, Rick drew his hand away. "If he didn't come this way, we should head back to meet Daryl and Morgan." He took a step towards the front door.

"Wait," Michonne requested. When Rick halted and turned towards her, she added, "We still have some time before we're supposed to meet them."

Rick raised his eyebrows slightly. "What did you have in mind?"

She walked over to a piece of furniture and pulled off the drop cloth covering it to reveal a low-backed upholstered chair. Pulling it into the center of the room, she commanded, "Sit." He smirked and shook his head at her, but he complied. Once he was seated, she crouched on the floor between his knees. Realizing what she had in mind, he asked, "You sure you want to do this here?"

"Right here, right now," she confirmed with a flirtatious grin. "Just don't take too long."

He leaned down to kiss her passionately. "Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," he responded breathlessly as she stroked her hands up and down his thighs. When she slowly lowered the zipper of his jeans, his heart started racing. He could hardly believe this was happening; just this time yesterday, he was full of anxiety at the rift between them. Now, they were together again, and alone, and she was about to fulfill one of his greatest fantasies: Michonne was going to go down on him. She pushed his t-shirt up around his navel and brushed her fingertips over the hard plains of his six-pack abs, then swirled them through the thick trail of dark hair leading down into his underwear. Raising his ass a few inches off the chair, he gave her the room she needed to ease his jeans and boxer briefs down just past his hips. He was only half-hard, and he felt slightly worried that his penis would look small while still flaccid. But he knew she would take care of that very soon.

Sure enough, the warm fingers of one of her hands encased his manhood in their embrace, gliding smoothly up and down his shaft and all around the head. Her other hand cupped his balls, gingerly massaging them. He moaned as he felt his dick lengthening under her ministrations. He was soon standing tall and thick and strong for her. When her lips came down to his head, giving him a feather-light kiss there, his breath caught, and pre-cum came beading out. "Please," he whispered.

"Please what?" she murmured, her eyes gleaming up at him.

"Do it." His urging came out as a throaty groan.

Immediately, she wrapped her thick lips around him, taking in almost the entire length of his cock. Her wet throat opened and closed around him, and it felt just like being buried deep inside a slick pussy. His climax was already rising, and he urgently shut his eyes against the vision of her sexy mouth enveloping his dick. Thirty seconds into it, and this was the best blow-job he had ever had. But she released his dick with a loud popping sound and warned him, "I need you to keep watch. Open your eyes." When he did so, she licked him from the tip to the hilt, then back up again, swirling her tongue around his red, swollen head. He was so sensitive to her touch that he shook, his abdominal muscles contracting every time she hit a particularly sensorial spot. She found the large vein running along the underside of his shaft, and tilted her head to the side to suck all along the course of it. He gripped the leather armrests of his chair to keep himself from tangling his fingers in her dreads, concerned that he would pull them in his passion and hurt her. As it was, his knuckles turned white at this onslaught of pleasure. Sheathing his cock with her beautiful lips again, she moved her head up and down his length. She took care to keep her teeth away from him, so he felt only the wet warmth of her lips and tongue. He flicked his gaze away from her periodically, scanning the windows for movement, straining his ears to listen for the sound of walkers approaching. His prayers were granted, however; they were not interrupted. She slid her lips up to his head and sucked long and hard, her hand wrapping around his shaft to jack him off at the same time. A few moments of firm strokes, and he warned her in a hoarse whisper, "Fuck, Michonne. _Fuck_! I'm coming!" But she didn't remove her lips from him, but sucked his dick with even greater enthusiasm, bobbing her head up and down and all around his tip. Suddenly, he dug his fingernails into the armrests, and his hips bucked up toward her face involuntarily. His cum erupted into her mouth amidst his groans and swears. It tasted salty and sweet all at the same time, and she drank it all down. She continued her firm strokes on his shaft and gentle squeezing of his balls until she was sure she had milked every drop from him. Finally, she released him and looked up to find him gazing down at her with nothing short of adoration in his eyes. He tucked himself away and rose from his chair, offering her a hand to help her up. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he cradled her head in the other hand as he kissed her long and deep. He tasted himself on her lips, and it made him want her all over again. _Easy_ , he warned himself. _You're not that young._

She took him by the hand and led him to the front door. "We should get going," she urged him quietly. They walked back towards the meeting place in silence, still basking in what they had experienced together, not wanting to move past it just yet. But before they got there, Morgan met them, hurrying up the path towards them with an ominous scowl on his face.

"What's happened? Where's Daryl?" Rick asked urgently.

"We found the guy," Morgan growled. "And he has Daryl with a gun to his forehead. He's demanding to see you."


	17. Chapter 17

Part 1

Rick and Michonne raced behind Morgan as he led them past the meeting place and down the northeast trail to Daryl and his captor. "You just left the two of them alone?" Rick demanded.

"No choice," Morgan replied grimly. "The guy got the better of us, and he won't let Daryl go until he talks to you two."

"He asked for us by name?" Rick asked incredulously.

"No, just wanted to speak to our leader. That's you two, right?"

Michonne and Rick exchanged a look before the latter said, "Yeah, with Deanna gone... yeah, I guess so."

They turned a sharp curve in the trail and there before them stood a man with pale skin and a thick beard. He was tall and had a hardened look to him, as if he were made all of bone and muscle. A forest green ski cap partially covered the mane of thick, dark hair that streamed down his shoulders. Standing behind Daryl, he pulled his captive close to his chest with one gloved hand. The other held a pistol against Daryl's temple. As the threesome approached, Michonne unsheathed her katana while Rick whipped his Colt from its holster. Morgan stood behind, his expression seething as he gripped his staff so hard his knuckles turned white.

"You leave him be!" Rick barked. "Turn him loose right now before I put a bullet between your eyes."

"Take it easy, alright?" the stranger demanded in a firm, authoritative tone. "I don't want to shoot your friend here. But if you kill me, who knows, my hand could spasm and pull the trigger or something. So let's all just calm down."

"We'll be calm when _our friend_ is standing over here _with us_ ," Michonne growled.

"Will you tell me your name?" the stranger asked. "Or should I just call you 'the samurai'?"

After darting a quick glance to Rick, who nodded curtly, she replied, "Michonne."

"And your companion?"

Rick took a menacing stop forward. "I'm Rick. You asked to see the leaders? Here we are. Now what the hell do you want?"

The stranger's expression was one of mild surprise. "You're in charge? You have to weigh, what, a buck-thirty soaking wet? You must have a hell of a way of handling people to get a big guy like this to follow behind you."

"Fuck you," Daryl spat.

"I weigh a lot more than that, but I didn't come here for your personal evaluation of my physique," Rick sneered. "You've been spying on our home, now you're holding one of us hostage — just what exactly do you want?"

"Look, I don't _want_ anything, except maybe to talk."

"You wanna talk?" Michonne returned. "How about you start by telling us your name?"

"I'm Paul Monroe. But my friends call me Jesus. The hair, I guess. You can use whichever name you want."

Rick retorted, "I'm not about to call you Jesus."

The other man shook his head. "That's fine, whatever you want. Like I said, I just want to talk."

"You release our friend, and then we'll talk," Rick demanded.

"Look, I want to. I just have to be sure you won't attack me or shoot me in the head as soon as I do. Your man," he gestured towards Morgan, "already gave me several good whacks with that staff. I told your guys to stand down, but they wouldn't listen, so I had to do this."

Rick and Michonne exchanged a glance, communicating wordlessly with one another. "You have our word," she promised. "Don't try anything, and we won't hurt you." After a moment's hesitation, Jesus relaxed the arm he had kept crossed over Daryl's chest. The other man shrugged him off spitefully and walked over to join his friends. Rick, Michonne, and Morgan all kept their weapons in their hands. "Now," Michonne continued. "Tell us why you've been watching us."

Jesus shrugged. "It's what I do. My job. I go out scouting for other communities, try to set up some trade agreements. We weren't aware of you guys previously, but a lot of smoke was spotted coming up from your direction about a week or so ago. When we heard about it, Gregory — the leader of our community — sent me out to investigate. I expected to find a lot of rubble and walkers, but damn if you weren't all there, safe and sound and back in business. It was a hell of a sight."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Rick demanded. "You're part of another community? Like us?"

"Sure," Jesus shrugged. "I'm from the Hilltop. You've not heard of us?"

Rick replied incredulously, "Of course not, how the hell would we have heard of you?"

"Well, most of the communities around here trade with us. I figured one of them would have mentioned us to you by now."

"What do you mean, 'most of the communities'?" Michonne asked. "How many are there?"

He shot her a surprised look. "You don't... you know there are other communities around here, right? You don't think you're the only ones, do you?" When she shot Rick a sidelong glance, Jesus exclaimed, "Wow, you guys had no idea, did you? Oh, your world is about to change, that's for sure."

"We've come across people," Rick noted defensively. "All unfriendly types."

"No, these are real communities," Jesus assured him. " _Homes_ , like yours. Little pockets of civilization in the middle of the insanity this world has devolved into. The Hilltop is about ten miles north of here. Five miles west of us is another community, smaller than yours. And between us and more to the east is another. They're the ones who sent word to us about the smoke because they know we do the scouting."

"So," Rick sighed, shifting his weight to one leg and tilting his head slightly, "We're supposed to believe that you just want to _trade with us_? That's what this is all about?"

"Well, since it's the truth, yes," Jesus said. "I was on my way back to the Hilltop to relay the details about your community to Gregory and gather some of our people to form an envoy to meet you. Usually, it's a formal kind of deal when we approach another community for the first time. Sort of the opposite of this, really. I didn't expect you to hunt me down."

"We see a threat, we eliminate it," Michonne said matter-of-factly.

"I understand. But what I'm offering you is civilization reborn. Trade. Communication. A network of strongholds cooperating with one another to take back this world. I'll show you how it works; I'll take you back to the Hilltop so you can meet Gregory and everyone else, have a look around. We'll figure out a clear path between our community and yours so we don't have to go traipsing through the woods every time we want to get to each other." Jesus took a step toward Rick and held out his hand. "To be a part of it, all you have to do is say 'yes'."

"Well, when you put it that way," Rick shrugged, "how can we refuse?"

Smiling, he reached out his hand toward Jesus. "Rick, don't!" Michonne shouted suddenly, but it was too late. A half of a second later, Rick pulled the other man to the ground and aimed a savage kick towards his head. But Jesus was faster, dodging the blow and grasping the leg Rick was standing on, pulling it out from under him. He landed hard on his back, the wind forced from his lungs. Morgan and Daryl rushed forward to attack Jesus, but Michonne jumped into the middle. "Stop!" she commanded loudly. "You're all wrong. You should be listening to him, not attacking him!"

Rick pulled himself to his feet and turned towards her. "A word?" he requested in a low, rumbling tone. The two of them walked several feet away while the others waited. They couldn't hear exactly what Rick and Michonne were saying to one another, but from the intense looks on their faces and the gestures they made in Jesus' direction, it was clear that they were debating what should be done with him. For his part, Jesus stood to one side and waited patiently, ignoring the dark looks Daryl was shooting his way.

"You _trust_ this guy?" Rick was saying. "After everything he's done?"

"What has he done? Checked us out? Defended himself? Those aren't crimes," Michonne noted. "He seems trustworthy to me, Rick. And if what he's saying is true? This is an amazing opportunity. A chance to start rebuilding our world."

"And if he's not? The last place that offered something that sounded too good to be true tried to serve us for dinner, remember?"

"Of course I remember," she retorted. "But that wasn't the last place. The last place was Alexandria — our _home_. And while it's had its problems, think of where we would be now if we didn't take a chance on Aaron and his offer, even when it sounded too good to be true."

Rick grumbled, "I dunno... are you sure you have a good feeling about this guy?"

She nodded. "I do. Same as with Aaron. With Terminus and the Governor? There were red flags going up in my mind all over the place."

"I don't trust him," Rick muttered. "But I do trust you." When she smiled appreciatively at him, he continued, "So what's our next step here? Follow him to this Hilltop place?"

"You don't want to take him home first?" she asked in surprise. "Tie him up, interrogate him? Wait to see if more of his people show up?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to take him back to where Judith and Carl sleep. What if he gets loose and opens the gate for his friends? No, we should keep going."

"I do think that would be for the best, especially since we've already covered about half the distance between his community and ours."

"Even when he could be leading us like sheep to the slaughter?"

"Except he's not," she assured him. "We're doing the right thing here, Rick."

Sighing with resignation, he said, "Okay, but if he makes one wrong move, I'll blow his brains out. If we get there, and they aren't what he says they are, if they're bad people, we'll kill them all and take everything they have."

"Of course," she responded solemnly. "That's the way it has to be. Now come on, let's go deal with this. _Together_ this time."

As they rejoined the others, Rick turned to Jesus. "You're taking us to this Hilltop place," he demanded in a voice that would brook no argument. "And if I don't like what I see when I get there, or if you try to signal them in some way to attack us — I'll kill you where you stand."

"Alright," Jesus agreed grimly. "If that's the way it has to be. But let's get moving. If we hurry, we can make it before sunset."

Part 2

Almost three hours later, the five travelers emerged from the tree line just as the western sky was turning carnation pink and strawberry red. They stood looking up at an expansive, walled compound atop a large hill. "This is it," Jesus announced, pointing towards the town.

Rick looked around uneasily. "And we're supposed to just walk right up there with you? They could shoot us from the wall any time they want."

"Rick, it's going to take trust for us to work together," Jesus responded. "I've told you all about us. Here's the Hilltop, just as I described it to you on the way here. What's it going to take for you to trust me?"

"I don't know," Rick hedged, shaking his head. "But I'm not just going to lead my people into a trap."

Sighing, Jesus reached for his gun and pulled it from its holster. Rick, Michonne, Morgan, and Daryl all instinctively reached for their weapons also, but Jesus froze and chuckled self-consciously. "Damn, I didn't mean — here, I just want to show you." He opened the chamber to reveal that it was empty. "We ran out of bullets a long time ago. I only carry these around for show." He turned to Daryl. "Sorry especially to you for holding you up with an empty gun."

"You've been unarmed this whole time?" Rick asked in disbelief.

"Other than my knives, yeah. Everybody inside is, too. We have spears and clubs, but nothing long-range. You're not going to get shot here, Rick. You're not going to get hurt at all."

Michonne gave Rick a meaningful look before speaking for all of them. "We're going. Lead us in, Jesus."

The rest of the evening was spent touring the Hilltop and meeting everyone. While the leader, Gregory, pulled Rick away to give him a personal tour, Jesus showed Michonne and the others around. At the center of the compound was a large and stately manor house. Smaller trailers lined the periphery. Jesus explained that about half the community lived in the manor house, while the others preferred the privacy of the trailers. Michonne noted that it seemed to be a tight-knit community. People were working side-by-side in the fields until it was too dark to see, while others prepared a large, family-style dinner at an open-air kitchen similar to what they used to have at the prison. Children ran around everywhere. At dinner time, everyone gathered to eat together at picnic benches set in long rows. As Jesus took a place next to Morgan at one of the tables, he explained that they did this twice a day, every day for breakfast and dinner (people saw to their own lunches). A few moments later, Rick sat down between Michonne and Daryl, a steaming bowl of chicken and vegetable stew in his hand. He dug in voraciously, not talking at all for several minutes. Eventually, he leaned back with a contented sigh.

"God, look at that. Real meat. Not from a can or anything. We haven't had that since the prison," Rick pointed out wistfully.

Michonne smiled at his obvious enjoyment of such a simple pleasure. "We should see what we can do about getting some chickens of our own to raise."

"We have some we can trade you," Jesus offered. "You'll need a rooster, too, of course. If you have someone who can build you a coop, we have plenty of the Styrofoam we used to soundproof our coops with. We have other small livestock we can trade, also: goats, rabbits, even some pigs."

Michonne elbowed Rick lightly. "You hear that? You can have pigs again."

He smiled broadly at her. "You know, I do actually miss raising them. Those piglets were pretty cute, even if they did shit all over the place." He turned to Jesus. "I think trading with you is going to be a big help to Alexandria. I'm not going to say I'm sorry for distrusting you because it's my job to look out for my family and all our people. But I will say that you were right."

Jesus nodded. "Thanks, Rick. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head up to the manor house and see about preparing accommodations for you. You'll be spending the night, of course, so I'll ask the folks assigned to the housekeeping to prepare four of the spare bedrooms."

"We'll only need three," Michonne asserted. Rick glanced at her but immediately tried to hide his surprise.

"Of course," Jesus replied. "I'll see to it." And he left them to finish their meal alone.

"So what was that Gregory guy like?" Daryl asked, his voice low so that people at the other tables couldn't hear him.

"He's a buffoon," Rick said shortly. "He mostly wanted to take me around so he could show off. Said he pulled only me aside and not you, Michonne, because he 'didn't believe in women taking charge over men', whatever the hell that means."

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest and blew out an impatient breath. "I wondered why he only wanted to speak with you."

"Yeah. It's obviously Jesus and guys like him who really get stuff done around here. I think Gregory is just a figurehead. He probably takes credit for everybody else's accomplishments."

"Well, at least Jesus wasn't exaggerating about this place," Morgan pointed out. "They have a ton of food. No one seems to be hurting for clothing, either. Jesus said they have plenty of tools. This is a nice setup they have here."

"True, but what are we going to offer them in trade?" Michonne wondered out loud. "Anything we have, they have, and more of it. Except ammo, but I don't think we should be letting go of that."

Rick sighed. "We'll have to figure out some way to make this relationship work. Now that we know about the Hilltop, we can't just walk away from it. And, _Christ_ , there are more places like this out there." He shook his head in amazement. "Here I was thinking it was just us. Or if there were other places, they would be too far away or too isolated to contact." He looked around the table at his three friends. "It's like the whole world has opened up to us again."

Part 3

Michonne was later than Rick in coming to their room that night. She had gotten engrossed in a conversation with a few of the women about what life was like at the Hilltop. When she finally retired for the evening, so found Rick sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a jar of peanut butter and consuming it by the spoonful. "What on earth are you doing?" she laughed.

"Eating peanut butter," he said, his mouth full.

"Yes, I can see that."

Rick swallowed. "Jesus came by and asked if we needed anything. I asked him if this place had any peanut butter." He grinned at her. "It does."

"But eating it with a spoon, straight from the jar?" She shook her head incredulously at him.

"Hey, do you know how long it's been since I had peanut butter? Alexandria ran out a couple of months before we got there. And besides... Maybe I should try to bulk up a little."

"Oh, is what Jesus said bothering you?" she asked sympathetically. She joined him on the bed and, scooting behind him, started massaging his shoulders.

After he screwed the lid back on the jar, he sat it down on the nightstand and placed his spoon next to it. "A little," he admitted with a shrug.

"You're _not_ skinny," she reassured him. "You're lean. And cut, too."

He smiled at her over his shoulder. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," she confirmed. She leaned over and kissed him, rubbing the last traces of peanut butter off his lips with hers.

After indulging in several more kisses, he pulled back slightly and asked, "So, why did you ask Jesus to put us in a room together?"

Raising an eyebrow, she teased, "You really don't know?"

He smirked at her needling, but he blushed a bit, too. "It's just that... you said you wanted to take this slow. And I want to respect that. Still, there was this morning in the cabin, and now we're spending the night together. I don't want to get the wrong idea about what it all means."

"Yeah...," she said slowly. She slid over to sit beside him on the bed and took one of his hands in hers. "I've always thought it's smart to find out if you're sexually compatible with someone before diving into a commitment."

"Sexually _compatible_?"

Now it was her turn to blush a little. "I'm talking about finding out if the sex is good," she said frankly.

"So you... you were with other men? Before Mike?" He put the question to her in a gentle and hesitating manner, not even sure it was appropriate for him to ask.

"Yes, of course. I didn't meet Mike until I was twenty-seven. I certainly didn't wait all that time."

He nodded. "Lori and I married so young... we were both virgins. She was the only woman I've ever been with, Michonne."

She was silent for a long moment, turning that information over in her head, before she offered softly, "We don't have to if you're not ready. We can just... we'll just go to sleep. It's okay." She was suddenly very concerned that she had been too impetuous with him in the cabin.

"No, no, I — I want you," he said, his voice low as he brought his hand up to her face. Gently, he traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. "I just want to be real clear about what this is. I don't want to expect more from you than you're ready to give." His eyes searched hers.

"This is you and me. Together. Is that enough?" she whispered, bringing her lips close to his.

"It is," Rick murmured. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, delighting in being able to do so freely. He pulled her to his chest and deepened the kiss until their tongues danced in a perfect rhythm. One of her hands cupped his face, and the other slid tantalizingly up his thigh. His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, and he broke the kiss to say, "Take this off." She pulled it up over her head, and immediately his lips descended to her breasts. Tangling her fingers in his curls, she moaned as he dipped his tongue into her cleavage before kissing all over each mound of soft flesh left bare by her demi bra. He reached around and expertly unfastened her bra, then drew it away from her body. Her breasts were round, firm globes, her skin the color of chocolate, her nipples dark as black coffee. Sliding off the edge of the bed, he knelt on his knees on the floor between her legs, his face level with her breasts. Gently, he took one in each hand. They were heavy for their size and fit perfectly in his hands. He licked one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked, softly pinching the other one at the same time. Shockwaves of pleasure rippled through her body, emanating from her breasts and womanhood. As he moved his mouth to the other tit, swirling his tongue in slow circles all around her nipple, she felt her panties growing damp. Her body was responding eagerly to what he was doing to her. "Rick," she whispered. As good as it felt, she needed more of him.

He got to his feet, and she immediately did the same. Grasping the hem of his t-shirt, she drew it over his head. Her fingers explored the hard muscles of his chest and belly before tracing the lines of his Adonis belt as it led down into his light blue boxer briefs. She unfastened his belt, then his jeans, and Rick let them fall to the floor before kicking them out of the way. Eagerly, he drew down the zipper of her pants, then slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them, toeing off her socks at the same time, so that she stood before him in only her black bikini-cut panties. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed where she lay down for him. He joined her on the mattress and took hold of her panties at either side of her hips, then slowly pulled them down. Once they were off, he spread her thighs apart and got on his knees between them. His eyes roamed up and down her body as she lay there, completely naked, for him. His gaze zeroed in on her womanhood, glistening with her arousal. Michonne thanked her lucky stars that she had remembered to shave that morning. Gingerly, his fingers explored her smooth pussy, moving all around her wet folds. He slipped one finger inside. She felt so warm and snug that he shivered in anticipation. Slowly, he drew it his finger in and out, fucking her with it. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned. She looked so vulnerable, so _ready_ , that he wanted to take her right then, but he forced himself to wait. He wanted to give her as much pleasure as possible. Her sex clenched around his finger, and a hot current of desire ran through him, straight to his hard cock. His erection grew so hard, it was painful. Rick licked his lips and took hold of her by the thighs. Bending his head to her pussy, he held her in place with a strong grip on her thighs. He ran his tongue over her slick folds, causing her to gasp and squirm under his mouth. His beard rubbed against her sensitive skin, and the extra friction only added to her pleasure. Pushing his mouth deeper into her sex, he wrapped his lips around her swollen clit. He sucked it, gently at first, then harder and faster when he felt her thighs tremble under his hands. Her heels pressed against the mattress as she lifted her hips in a desperate attempt to get her clit further into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled, but Rick ignored the minor pain. It only betrayed her intense desire. He let go of one of her thighs and pushed two fingers deep inside her pussy. The fit was so tight that he stretched her around his digits. "Rick, Rick! Oh, fuck, yes, _Rick!_ " she moaned. His dick jumped at the sound of his name tumbling from her lips. She writhed against his face as he massaged her clit again and again with his tongue, flicking it up and down, then in rapid circles. Pride swelled in his chest as she made it evident that she loved what he was doing to her. Firmly, relentlessly, he kept his tongue working over her clit. When he curled his fingers slightly so that they hit her G-spot, it drove her over the edge. She shattered around his face, cumming into his mouth, and he drank in every drop he could get, sucking at her pussy for more. Her body shook violently under his hand and around his fingers. He kept licking and sucking and working his fingers in and out of her until she had rode out the last wave of her orgasm, and her body stilled. Pulling back to look at her, he took in the sight of her legs spread wide and still quivering, her body sheened with sweat. He lifted his gaze to her gorgeous face and watched while her thick, sexy lips formed the words, "Fuck me, Rick."

"Oh, hell, yes," he growled and dived for her lips, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. Her hands reached blindly for his boxer briefs, and when she found the waistband, she gave it an impatient tug. He pulled back to allow her to push the garment down to his knees before he kicked his way out of it. Hurriedly, he reached over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer, fishing out a box of condoms. Peanut butter was not the only thing he'd requested from Jesus. Tearing one open, he quickly rolled it down over his pulsing cock. He swiftly positioned himself between her thighs and slid his swollen head along her dripping wet pussy until he found her entrance. He thrust into her forcefully, his entire length all at once. She cried out in both pleasure and pain as he stretched her around his girth. The pace he set was brutal right from the start. He pistoned into her over and over, pummeling her pussy with his thick cock. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, and the sight turned him on even more. His balls slapped against her ass, and she clung to his shoulders as he stroked her hard and fast. Before she even felt it rising, another orgasm claimed her, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through her body. Her quaking, clenching pussy brought him right to the brink of climax. He made a valiant effort to resist it, his longing to stay buried inside her as long as possible was so strong. But it had been too long since his last time, and she just felt _too damn good_. He teetered on the edge for a moment before falling headlong into his own orgasm. "Goddamn, Michonne," he groaned deeply, his voice sounding even more Southern than she had ever heard it.

When his shaking had ceased, she caressed his back as he lay inside of her, the both of them enjoy these last moments of being one with each other. With one last kiss, he pulled out and rolled over to the side of the bed to pull off and discard the condom.

"Shit!" Rick hissed suddenly. Michonne sat up in alarm. His back was to her, and she couldn't tell what was wrong.

"What? What is it?" she asked urgently.

He turned to her, his eyes wide with panic. "Fuck, Michonne, the condom. It broke."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I won't be updating Wild Heart again for a while. 6B is about to start, and I'm going to be engrossed in that. This story is not being labeled as "Complete" because I may come back to it at some point in the future. But I didn't want to leave you totally hanging after Chapter 17's ending. So while this isn't a full chapter, let's consider it an addendum, if you will.

Obviously, not everyone will agree with the views presented here. This is a story, not a sermon.

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For a moment, Michonne couldn't breathe. She just stared at Rick, and his expression reflected the same shock she was feeling. Finally, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. When we get back to Alexandria, I'll visit Denise and see if she has any boxes of the morning-after pill." Rick gazed at her silently for a long moment, his expression even, before getting up and padding into the adjoining bathroom to clean himself up. Still naked, she followed after him, very conscious of the fact that the wetness she felt between her legs was not just the remnants of her own arousal, but also his seed. "What?" she asked. "What is it?"

"Nothin'," he muttered. He concentrated on washing up, using some of the pitcher of clean water that had been left in the bathroom, as the Hilltop did not have running water.

"Don't do that, Rick," she insisted, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Don't say it's 'nothing.' I know you're worried, but it's okay. I'll take care of it."

"No, that's —" he stopped short and jerked his head downward. "You do what you feel you have to do, okay?"

As he finished washing up and returned to bed, she leaned against the edge of the bathroom countertop, realization dawning on her. "You don't want me to go to Denise, do you?"

He didn't speak at first, and instead simply sat down and leaned back against the headboard. He seemed to be thinking carefully about what he wanted to say. Eventually, he replied quietly, "The last time I told a woman she shouldn't do that, she died in childbirth." He held his open hands in front of himself in a helpless gesture. "I'm not wise enough to make decisions like that, to tell you what you should and shouldn't do."

She joined him on the bed, sitting down next to him and leaning her head into the crook of his shoulder. He put his arm around her. Gently, she said, "From what I understand, Lori was several weeks along. We're only talking about a couple of cells, Rick. If there's even anything there at all."

"I know," he sighed, taking her hand in his and rubbing her circles in her palm with his thumb. "I know."

"Tell me," she prompted quietly. When he shook his head slightly, she insisted, " _Tell me_."

"You know I'm not a religious man," he murmured. "My grandparents took me to church when I was a kid, but... I don't know if there is no God, or if we're just too small for him to pay attention to. Like us with ants as we walk by. But I have to believe we have souls, Michonne. That somehow, somewhere, Lori is happy and safe, and so is everyone else we lost. Mike and Andre, too." She nodded, blinking back a few tears, but let him go on. "And I don't know how that happens for sure. But it makes sense to me that if we do have souls, that they're a part of us right from the beginning. Otherwise, when does it happen? When do we get them?" He let out a shaky breath. "I might have it all wrong, but... it doesn't feel right to just... get rid of it."

She bit her lip contemplatively. "I don't think either of us is ready for a baby."

"Even if the baby's already there?"

She pulled back slightly and insisted more firmly, "Even if there is something there, still: it's _not_ a baby, Rick. Not yet."

He gazed into her eyes for a moment before replying quietly, "It's the start of one." He sighed. "It's your body, Michonne. I can't tell you what do. But you asked how I feel, so... so there it is."

She nuzzled her head against his chest and draped one of her legs over his, getting as close to him as she could. "Okay," she said softly.

He pulled back slightly to look at her. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, we'll do this your way. I don't really feel the same about it, but I see what you're saying."

Hesitatingly, he asked, "Is this going to change the way you feel about us? You wanted to take it slow, and this is the opposite of slow."

"The only thing it changes is making me want to be with you even more," she assured him. "If we're doing this, we're doing it together. I... I need you."

He bent his neck and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I do love you, you know that? Baby or no baby. It's okay for us to take it at whatever pace you want. Just don't ever doubt how much I care for you."

She smiled against his chest. "I won't."

Sometime later, his breathing became deep and even. She glanced out the window next to their bed to see the night sky filled with brilliant stars, shining like diamonds on a bed of blue-black velvet. Gently, she pressed her lips to his warm skin. She whispered, "I love you, too" to a sleeping Rick. Or she thought he was sleeping. But he wasn't; he had heard her, and even as he gave no outward sign so as not to scare her away, still his heart felt fuller than it had in a very long time.


End file.
